Taken
by P.L. Wynter
Summary: Knock too many times on the devil's door and eventually the devil will knock back.
1. Chapter 1

Taken

Chapter one

"More shots!" Sam glanced up at the words, his eyes falling on a group of college aged kids at the table behind him. Two guys and a girl. They were laughing, having fun, celebrating something. The couple who were sitting down sat close to each other. And the kid standing up, swaying on his feet, held six empty shot glasses in his hands, the grin on his face glaringly drunken. "More shots!" he repeated and then headed towards the bar, against his friends' protests. But the couple just laughed and kissed and joked and when the shots were brought back, they drank them and went on being happy and normal.

It reminded Sam of this past Halloween when he'd been doing the same with his friends. With Jess. When he'd been celebrating his unremarkable score on the LSAT's and his inevitable full ride scholarship and job offers that would follow. It sobered Sam for a moment, thinking back on the last normal day he'd had. After all these months on the road, all these months seeking revenge on the thing that had killed Jess and their mother, Sam was starting to forget what it felt like to wake up for class in the morning, to spend long nights in the library studying, to have a weekend to do nothing but have fun with friends or sit on a couch and relax. And he couldn't help but be upset that, as much as he missed normal, he was finding it hard to remember what it'd been like. It made him all the more ready to kill the thing that killed Mom and Jess and get it over with so he could go back to Stanford and finish what he started. Without Jess, but he would manage. He could move on. He had almost convinced himself of such.

It didn't help matters that just weeks ago they'd finally found their father, after months of searching for him, only to have to say goodbye to him again. Sam understood why it had to be done, he understood that they were a liability to their father, that if the demon ever got its hands on them, they would be used against their father. Hell, they'd seen it first hand. John had almost died five minutes after they'd found each other. So they'd decided it would be best if they went their separate ways. And Sam had watched John climb into his truck with a single glance back at them before driving off. Sam understood why it had to be done, but that didn't mean he agreed with it.

Sam thought that finding their Dad, finding John, would take away some of the pain. In a way, it had. When John had wrapped his arms around Sam and hugged him, held him close, Sam felt relief from a stress he hadn't known had been there. A veiled apology and Sam found himself once again included in John Winchester's life. And that should have been it. That should have been the relief Sam was looking for these months on the road. His whole goal had been to find their father, after all, he'd convinced himself of that. But it hadn't been the relief Sam was expecting. He still hurt. He was still confused and lost over why this was all happening, over why that bastard of a demon had stolen two of the most important people in his life. If anything, Sam had more questions now than he had when he'd started. And that hurt worse than anything. He just wanted this to be over with. He just wanted to go back to his life, the one he'd made for himself, instead of the one that was given to him.

"Please tell me you're not still on your first beer," Dean's voice broke into Sam's melancholy mood and he looked up to see his brother approaching the table, pocketing the winnings he'd just earned from the pool game he'd been playing. Sam saw the two locals Dean had just hustled still back at the pool table, shaking their heads and glancing towards his brother. "Where did I go wrong with you?" Dean asked, picking up Sam's beer and taking a sip. Sam scoffed and grabbed it away from his brother.

"How much did you get?" Sam asked, ignoring the jibe.

Dean grinned, motioning to a waitress for another beer. She brought one over and he smiled warmly at her. She blushed and scooted off. "Enough to leave our waitress a ridiculous tip," he said, winking when the waitress looked over at him. She grinned and turned away quickly. "You know she's got a tattoo on her lower back. I'm a sucker for the roses…"

"Dean," Sam warned and his brother turned to look at him, a dazed look on his face. "We're here for the missing persons case."

"Yeah, whatever," Dean said as he took a chug of his beer, eyes absently going back to the waitress who was wiping down the counter, purposely leaning over further than she had to, giving Dean, and anyone else who was looking, a nice show of her cleavage. "Damn," Dean whispered. Sam sighed and knew he was on the verge of losing this battle. Dean's hormones were an enemy Sam could rarely win against. And they hadn't dulled down with age. If anything, they only got worse every passing year.

"So," Sam said loudly. "Those missing persons…"

Dean held a hand up, signaling for him to wait a second as the waitress finished wiping the counter and the adjusted her top, her eyes drifting to Dean, who grinned and finally turned to look at Sam. "Yeah, right, missing persons. Two in the last week, right?" Sam nodded and internally commended his victory. Dean's attention, at least for the moment, was back on the case. It had, after all, been Dean's idea to check this one out in the first place. Six missing people in the last two months. Normally they wouldn't have paid any attention to it, but some of the eye witness reports had clued them in that this was possibly their type of job.

"Right," Sam agreed and turned the laptop in front of him so Dean could see it. "And when the last person went missing, there was a witness who claimed she saw a dark figure hovering over her son's bed." Dean frowned around his beer and reached out to scroll down the article.

"Could be a phantom attacker," Dean shrugged. "Sounds like their type of deal."

Sam nodded. "Yeah but with phantom attackers, the victims are usually found. None of these victims have been. Cops don't have a clue where they might be."

Dean snorted and took another swig of his beer. "That doesn't surprise me," he muttered. "Cops aren't good for nothing except to entertain me at three in the morning when I get to watch them chase around half naked dudes on tv." Dean was mainly mumbling to himself as he scrolled through the article on the laptop. Sam wondered if his brother even heard himself sometimes. "So the last person to go missing was Alex Scott, sixteen."

"Yup," Sam confirmed and leaned forward. "His mother said she went to check on him before going to bed and when she opened the door to his room, she saw the figure above his bed, turned to yell for her husband, and when she turned back, Alex was gone." Dean leaned back with a puzzled look on his face. "The thing works fast, whatever it is." Sam paused and shook his head. "Have you ever heard of a phantom making someone just disappear like that? I mean, this kid wasn't dragged or anything, he was just...gone."

Dean put his beer down and leaned back, a slight furrow to his brow. "You know, maybe he didn't just disappear. Some spirits can mask themselves so people can't see them. It might be that this bitch is masking its victims. The kid could have still been in the room and the Mom wouldn't have even known it."

"Okay, but if that's the case, why wouldn't the kid have screamed or made noise? Let his Mom know he was still there?" Sam pointed out.

Dean shrugged. "Maybe he couldn't." Dean chugged the last of his beer before putting it down and announcing his readiness to go with a sigh. Sam just smiled and closed the laptop. "You know, we should go check out that kid's room in the morning. See if we can get a reading. Check for sulfur or ozone. Figure out what the hell we're dealing with."

Sam stood up and grabbed his coat. "Yeah and maybe the Mom saw something more than just a _dark figure_. She might have seen something that could help us out."

"Yeah," Dean said distractedly. Sam turned to look at him and saw that his brother had grabbed his coat, but still held it in his hands. Dean's attention was on something in the back of the room and he recognized that crease in his forehead as the one that always came up when Dean suspected there was going to be trouble. That scrutinizing look. Sam had come to rely on that look. He turned to see what had caught his brother's attention.

At the back of the room, the two locals Dean had just hustled in pool just a few minutes ago were both standing next to the pool table, one with his arms crossed over his chest and the other squeezing his hands into fists and relaxing them in rhythm. Their eyes were on Dean. "Looks like you've got some fans," Sam said quietly. "You had to pick the two biggest guys in the room, didn't you?"

"Whatever, dude," Dean brushed him off and turned towards the door, though he didn't take his eyes off the two at the pool table. "Let's get out of here." He started walking, coat still in hands, but as soon as he had taken two steps, the guys pushed themselves off the table and made their way towards Dean. Sam noticed the shark-like look in their eyes. He didn't like that look being aimed at his brother. Even if he was confident that Dean could take them in a fight. Didn't mean he wanted to find out.

"Dean," Sam warned needlessly. His brother had already put his coat back down on the table and now stood with his hands down to his sides, a cocky look on his face. Sam grit his teeth. This wouldn't be pleasant.

The two men came to stand right in front of Dean, one of them turning his shoulder to Sam, effectively blocking him out of the stand off. Sam just leaned forward, letting the guy know that he was still there and he wasn't afraid of him. Just maybe his smell...

"We want our money back," the bigger of the two lugs said, stepping closer to Dean, who looked incredibly little in comparison. But the height didn't seem to phase his brother. Dean just looked up at the guy with a fake look of consideration on his face.

"What for?" Dean asked snobbishly. Sam couldn't help the half quirk of a smile that touched his lips. He'd sounded like a teenager again, talking back to someone who was trying to give him orders but had no authority to do so. He'd never used the tone with their Dad, save for a couple of times when the rebellious teenage nature had managed to get a firm grip on him. But Sam had seen him use it on plenty of people.

The guy in front of him pointed a finger at Dean's chest. "You's a cheat," he drawled. Dean glanced at the finger once and then plastered on an innocent look.

"How'd I cheat? By practicing my game?" Dean asked testily. Sam tilted his head and glared at his brother. Dean sure wasn't trying to avoid this fight. He was taunting them. Sam would have to take initiative.

Stepping forward, Sam pushed Dean back a bit and took his place, smiling as friendly as he could at the two of them. "Look, I'm sure we can work this out without..." Sam didn't have time to finish. He was caught off guard by a right hook from the guy who'd had his shoulder to him. It surprised Sam enough that he didn't have time to catch himself before falling into the wall and then sliding quickly to the ground. He blinked a few times, realizing he'd just been slugged. He reminded himself to thank Dean later for that.

But there were more pressing matters at hand. Mainly, the fight that had erupted between Dean and the two locals. Sam watched for a second, always fascinated by his brother's skills when he saw them first hand. Dean landed in a quick few punches to both the guys before one managed to grab his arms and hold him still. But Dean brought up his legs and kicked at the other guy, snapping the guy's head to the side with brutal force and causing him to crash down onto a table. Dean slammed his head backwards into the guy's face who was holding him. He was instantly let go and he turned, breathing hard to watch the two locals regather themselves.

"You wanna try to hit my little brother again, bitch?" Dean yelled. Sam drew himself to his feet. His jaw hurt a little, but other than that, he was all right. He took a step forward, intent on pulling Dean away from the fight again. They didn't need this, and the bartender looked about ready to call the cops.

Sam's hand had just made it to Dean's shoulder when the man who'd been sent crashing into the table suddenly reentered the fight. Using a leg from the table he'd just broken, he swung out at both of them. Dean's arm came back instinctively to push Sam backwards, but the weapon hadn't been meant for Sam and when it struck Dean upside the head, the sickening crack that resounded through the bar was enough to make Sam shove aside his passive attitude towards the situation and spur himself into action.

As Dean fell to his hands and knees, Sam jumped forward and solidly kicked the man brandishing the table leg across the face. He wouldn't be getting up from that one any time soon. But Sam didn't have time to feel sorry as he soon found himself ducking under a series of punches and backhanded smacks aimed at his head from the remaining man. Sam had to give this guy credit, he was fast, and he knew his stuff. He ducked another punch and then took one of his own, surprised when the guy dodged it easily and used Sam's unexpected lack of contact against him. The guy swung around and brought a fist towards Sam's head. He managed to get an arm up to block it, but the strength was still there and it sent Sam back into the wall again.

But Dean had regained his feet and any altercation between Sam and this man was suddenly halted as Dean sacked the guy hard enough to send them both to the ground. Dean somehow managed to stay on top and didn't hesitate to land a few good blows to the guy's face before Sam rushed forward and wrapped his arms around his brother to pull him off. Dean struggled for a moment, but the cocking of a shotgun halted all movement in the room.

The bartender had a shotgun aimed at Sam and Dean. He looked furious and Sam wasn't about to test whether or not he'd actually shoot them. "You two hot shots get the hell out of my bar," he spat. Sam nodded, telling the guy that they would follow his wishes. "Now!" he yelled again, his finger twitching too much for Sam's comfort. Sam reached for Dean's coat, leaving one hand on his brother's arm, before looking once more at the two locals on the ground, each nursing their wounds, and then pulling Dean out the door.

Once out the door, Dean finally stopped huffing and snatched his coat from Sam. He put it on, angrily mumbling to himself, before stalking towards the car. Sam followed closely behind, noticing the stream of blood dripping down the side of his face from a nasty cut on his eyebrow from where the guy had cracked the table leg over his head. Sam took two long strides to get to his brother's side. He grabbed Dean's arm and put a hand to the cut.

"Get off," Dean grumped, shoving Sam away.

"Dean, you're bleeding," Sam said, reaching for the cut again. It didn't look too deep, just jagged and sore.

Dean slapped his hand away when they reached the Impala. "Yeah, well..." Dean struggled to find some witty retort. When he couldn't he just made a face and pulled open the car door, getting into the driver's seat. Sam shook his head with a chuckle. Dean was obviously fine. Just a scratch. He hopped into the car and looked at his brother. Dean was inspecting the cut for himself in the rear view mirror. He frowned at it and let out a sigh. Noticing Sam's eyes were on him, he turned and cracked a grin. "Still got my money."

Sam just shook his head, but managed to see the humor in the situation. "Yeah but you almost got shot," he pointed out.

"What?" Dean squawked. "I had it all under control."

"Uh huh," Sam said as Dean started up the car and pulled out. "And the whole getting cracked in the head thing?"

Dean grinned. "Had to make it look authentic," he replied. Sam just scoffed and shook his head, looking back out the window. "Besides, you got hit in the head, thought it was only fair if I did too. Didn't want to feel left out."

"Ass," Sam spat playfully.

Dean just chuckled. "Well I'll sleep good tonight," he said. "Bar fights always make me tired."

"Are you sure that's not the concussion?" Sam asked, half serious.

Dean put a hand to his ear and leaned a bit towards Sam. "Dude, I can't hear you. The ringing in my ears is too loud." Sam shoved Dean away and shook his head at his brother's sense of humor. He leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes, the smile still on his face. Nothing like this ever happened back at Stanford. Wounds weren't regarded with humor and disagreements weren't defused with witty retorts. He didn't know which he preferred. At Stanford, he always got the straight truth from his friends, no matter how much it hurt. But here, on the road with Dean, the straight truth was almost as big a myth as any.

Once the brothers were back at their motel, Sam patched up Dean's cut with a couple butterfly bandages and Dean made sure Sam iced his jaw, no matter how much he'd protested that it didn't hurt. Sam had hopped in the shower quick, not liking the thought of going to bed smelling like smoke and beer. And true to his word, when he came out, Dean was already in bed, under the covers, asleep. Sam grinned and then climbed into his own bed, trying not to think of the hunt they would be starting in the morning.

---

Sam woke in a panic and he didn't know why. He'd shot up, heart in rapid fire, arms held up defensively. It scared him that he couldn't remember why he was panicked. There hadn't been a nightmare, Sam always remembered his nightmares in vivid detail. And there wasn't anything in the room that shouldn't be there, no ghost or demon looming over his bed. Sam sent his eyes to the ceiling almost subconsciously. He took in the plain whiteness of it and then realized what he was doing and looked away. No, nothing there. There was no woman left in his life to be there. He tried not to think about how that did nothing to comfort him.

Letting his hands fall back down onto his lap, he shook his head and gave a nervous huff. There was no reason to panic. Everything was safe. No one was trying to get him. There was nothing else in the room.

And there was the problem right there.

Sam's eyes fell on Dean's bed, his empty bed. He frowned and then looked towards the bathroom. The light was off and the door was open. He wasn't in there. Shoving the covers off, he trudged over to the window and peered outside. He could see the Impala parked close by, and his brother wasn't inside or leaning against it, or anywhere near it. Sam's heart began to race again. He turned back around and looked at the missing bed. "Dean?" he chanced. There was no answer.

Racing to the nightstand, cussing when he hit his shin on the corner of the bed, he scooped up his cell phone and quickly found Dean's number. He jumped when Dean's phone rang behind him. He turned and saw it laying tauntingly on the table. Sam tried to stay calm. Dean wouldn't go anywhere without his phone, he knew better than that. Throwing his phone down, he looked at Dean's bed. The covers were pulled back messily. One pillow lay at the end of the bed, a large rip in the middle of it that Sam had missed when he'd first glanced at it in the dark. But the thing that caught Sam's attention the most, the thing that screamed out to Sam that he should be screaming and crying and losing his mind, was the knife that lay there in the middle of the bed. The knife that Dean kept beneath his pillow. The knife that he only took out when he was either packing it away until they reached the next motel or when he woke up to find something unfriendly looking down on him.

The knife told him everything he needed to know. And the worse part was, he didn't know what the hell to do about it.

Dean had been taken.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes: **So, this story was originally intended to be a different take on the episode, "The Benders," as some of you guessed. But today, I replotted the whole story, and though there are still some similarities, it's not going to be like how I originally planned at all. But hopefully you'll like the changes. :)

* * *

Chapter Two

"Son of a bitch," Sam snapped, trying to ignore the realization that he was starting to pick up some of Dean's vocabulary. Though it always sounded better coming from Dean's mouth, with his voice. When Sam tried it, he always sounded like a kindergartner saying a swear word for the first time. Like he should be peeking around to see if anyone heard him or not. He didn't even want to think about the fact that the only reason he was sounding like Dean at the moment was because Dean wasn't there to do it.

Sam paced back and force across the room. He glared at the EMF meter laying useless on the table. They should really start keeping it on at all times. Sort of like a ghost alarm. It could have saved Dean. Not that Sam wanted to admit that Dean needed saving, but there weren't a lot of other options out there. Coincidences didn't happen to Winchesters, it was simple as that. And for them to be investigating a phantom attacker who steals people from their beds only to have Dean disappear from his bed? That was too big of a coincidence. One that Sam wasn't willing to ignore. He wasn't going to try and convince himself that Dean just went for a stroll randomly in the middle of the night. Sam could only lie to himself about so many things.

He hadn't found anything. Nothing. The EMF meter didn't pick up a thing, there wasn't any ghost residue, and absolutely no evidence that anything other then Sam and Dean had even been in the room. Sam didn't have a clue what he was dealing with, which meant he hadn't a clue where to start. It also meant Dean could be anywhere. And anywhere really did mean anywhere. Sam closed his eyes. God, how was he supposed to do this? Dean always knew what to do. But Dean wasn't fucking here!

Gritting his teeth, Sam sat down on the edge of his bed. What was he even supposed to be doing? It was the middle of the night, he couldn't go talk to the families or go to the library. But he sure as hell wasn't going to wait until morning to start looking for his brother. Sam could only guess what was happening to Dean right now, at this very moment. He almost couldn't handle the thought. But he needed to focus. Panicking wouldn't help Dean. Even starting some online research seemed to be a stupid option. What Sam really needed, and couldn't believe he was hoping for, was one of those visions. He hadn't had anymore since that whole deal in Saginaw. Since Max. He didn't know why he'd had them them and not now, or not in Chicago. Not when a vision could have saved them a lot of scars and bloodshed if he just would have seen Meg's intentions before they'd gone in their totally unprepared. He wished there was a switch he could turn on somewhere so he could see where his brother was. All he needed was a hint, he could do the rest. Just one goddamn hint.

But there wouldn't be any visions. And Sam knew it would be too much to ask for a hint. That would be too lucky of him. He clenched his hands into fists before falling into a chair near the table and pulling out his laptop. It was time to sit down and think. Sam didn't get a 4.0 in college for nothing. He was a researcher. He was smart. Just follow the dots. Six people were taken from their beds. None of them had been found yet. Two months had gone by. But why had they started and why was this thing picking up the pace? That kid had gone missing just a few days ago, why take Dean so soon? Maybe he was working this all the wrong way. Don't start with Dean. Don't start at the end. Look at the beginning. Who was the first person taken? And what was happening to them at the time?

And Sam began his research. Pulling up as many articles he could about the missing people. The first one had been a guy named Piotr Locklyn. Good, that would help. He brought up every article he could find on Locklyn and tried to ignore how rapidly his knee was nervously bouncing, or that voice in the back of his mind that told him he needed to hurry up, Dean didn't have much time, if any. How many people had they saved from phantom attackers after they were taken?

He had to blink away tears as he couldn't think of a single person.

Dean swallowed a penny once when he was five.

John had found him crying in his room and when he'd asked him what was wrong, Dean had proclaimed with loud sobs that he'd lost his lucky penny and now he would have bad luck for the rest of his life. John hadn't known that his son even had a lucky penny, let alone where to begin looking for it, or how to explain to his oldest that he could just as easily find a new penny and put a blessing on that one if Dean would like. So he'd pulled Dean into his lap and had gently asked him where he last had his penny. Dean had answered, in his sweetly innocent tearful voice, that it had been in his mouth.

That had been the first and only time John Winchester had laughed at his son's despair.

And Dean couldn't for the life of him figure out why he was dreaming of this now, or why he was even aware that he was dreaming in the first place. As he forced himself further into the world of the waking, he considered that it may have something to do with the coppery taste in his mouth. With that thought, Dean forced himself fully awake. There was only one thing, besides pennies, that left a coppery taste like this. Blood.

Prying his eyes open, Dean was surprised to find himself laying on the floor. No, not _the_ floor, _a_ floor. This wasn't their floor. The motel room had carpet. This one was hard, and cold, and dirty, and God was that blood beneath him?

With a moan, Dean tested his body one part at a time. Everything seemed to still be attached. Nothing broken. His jaw felt a little tender, but other than that, and the hurts he'd sustained in the bar fight, he felt fine. All right, he was alive and kicking, so on to phase two. Where the hell was he and how the hell had he gotten there?

Somehow finding a way to a sitting position, he brought a hand to his jaw and massaged it for a moment as he looked around. He couldn't see much. It was nearly pitch black inside with only minimal light coming in from the black painted windows on the ceiling. He could tell that the room he was in was fairly large and was filled with machinery that Dean didn't recognize, and probably didn't want to recognize from the way the place smelled. Rotten meat. Rotten meat that had been around for a while. Dean had to breathe in through his mouth for a moment to get the nausea to go away.

A thought suddenly occured to him. Where was Sam? The last thing he remembered was coming home from the bar and watching Sam head into the bathroom. Then he'd laid down and had completely zonked out. Damn, maybe he did have a concussion. What had happened while he was asleep?

"Sam?" he called quietly, unsure if making noise was the smartest thing to do. Nothing but silence answered him. All right, time to get out of here.

Pushing himself to his feet, he brushed himself off, catching a few whiffs of the musty dust in the air in between the stench of rot. He went to feel in his pockets for a lighter and realized that he was in his briefs and t-shirt still. Great. Lost with no pants, that was a plus. And damn, it was fucking cold already, the least they could have given him was some socks.

"Sammy?" Dean hissed again, just to be sure. He couldn't see any silhouettes of bodies laying near him, so Sam wasn't in the immediate area, if he was here at all. "The hell?" he spat to himself. He tried to think, to concentrate about the last thing he remembered. But honestly, he couldn't remember anything beyond falling asleep in his bed. He didn't feel any new lumps on his head that would warrant amnesia and he was still in the clothes he'd gone to sleep in, so not too much time could have passed. But that didn't make any sense. He was a light sleeper.

A noise from behind him startled Dean so badly that he jumped and spun at the same time, nearly losing his feet beneath him. But he regained his balance and crouched a bit, his eyes scanning the dark, looking for movement, listening for noise. There was something there, he could tell, he just couldn't see what it was. Well this bitch was gonna pay, that's for sure. No one puts Dean Winchester in a creepy dark room with no pants without getting their heads busted in.

There was a small clang of metal and then a repressed gasp that sounded strangled and frightened. Dean frowned at that. It had almost been human. He clenched and unclenched his fists a couple of times, wondering if he was about to make the right move. He didn't think he really had another choice. So he sucked in a breath and held it for just a second before calling out quietly, "Nice clubhouse you got here." There was no answer. "I didn't know they were giving away free memberships."

A moment passed where Dean just remained tense. He could feel something watching him and he couldn't shake the feeling that he was staring right at it. But when something finally answered him, he wasn't expecting the soft voice or the terrified words. "Who are you?" Sounded almost like a kid. Great.

"I think that's supposed to be my question," Dean countered, his eyes catching some slight movement. He stared at the spot but held himself back.

The voice spoke again. "You're not with them?"

"Dude, I was just dreaming about Paris Hilton in a cabin somewhere and I woke up in this shit hole." He waited for a response. There wasn't one. "Do you know where we are?"

The spot he'd been watching moved again and he straightened a little but then relaxed when instead of a monster jumping out at him, a lanky teenager stepped out from behind his hiding spot. He took a few hesitant steps forward and Dean held up his hands to show him he didn't want to hurt him. In the darkness, he could tell that the kid was dressed in pajama bottoms and a Metallica t-shirt. A kid after his own heart. He still couldn't see his face.

"No," the kid responded. "I just woke up a couple days ago."

A light clicked on inside Dean's head. "You're Alex Scott."

The kid was quiet for a moment before he took another step forward and Dean could get a good look at his face. He was surprised to find that he resembled a younger Sam. A lot. The messy hair, lanky form, dark eyes. Dean was instantly attached to him, more so than he had been seeing the Metallica shirt. "How'd you know that?"

"My brother and I were investigating the disappearances," Dean said absentmindedly as he realized what exactly this implied. He was a victim of the phantom attacker. There were vague images of waking up to a pair of eyes. Grabbing his knife. Hands on his face. Pain. Perfect, just plain perfect. He could just picture Sam flipping out back in the motel room. If he was still in the motel room... "Have you seen anyone else here? Any of the others?"

Alex shook his head and Dean barely caught it in the dark. "No, I've been alone until they brought you."

"They?" Dean asked. "There's more than one?"

"Yeah, there's two of them," Alex said, hugging his arms in close to his body. "Two guys. I think they're from around here."

Dean held up a hand. "Wait, wait," he said and Alex stared at him with wide eyes. "They're human?" God, what was it with people and wanting to kidnap them lately? Dean shivered as he remembered his friend the fire poker.

"Yeah, what else would they be?" Alex asked, confused.

Dean ignored the question. "Are they the only ones?"

"Well they mentioned someone else, but I've only see the two of them." Alex shivered and Dean couldn't help but mirror the movement. God it was fucking cold.

"So they talk to you? How often do they come in?" Dean asked, a million scenarios running through his mind. Something wasn't adding up. This kid had been here for a couple of days? This was a big ass room, had he just not found the door? And how could the phantom attacker be just humans? Alex had disappeared from his bedroom in a matter of miliseconds. Humans don't work that fast. So this third person, it must be something else.

"They bring in food," Alex said and his eyes glazed over a bit. Dean leans down so he can still semi-see Alex's face. He needs to read the emotions there. He needs to know what's going on. "They bring it in a lot. They sit and they watch me eat it." His voice dropped so low that Dean took a step forward, his head tilted so he could hear. "They said I was too skinny."

"Too skinny?" Dean asked, eyes trailing over Alex. The kid wasn't all that skinny. He looked healthy enough. He was pretty lanky though, the same way Sam had been when he'd grown up instead of out. "Too skinny for what?"

Alex looked up and Dean could see the miniscule light in the room shinning off of tears in his eyes. "I don't know."

Sam had found out everything he'd ever possibly wanted to know about Piotr Locklyn. He'd found out where he was born, the places he'd lived, where he went to college, hell he even managed to find out what Locklyn's favorite type of food was. He found out everything, except why the hell a phantom attacker would take him, why it would start with him. He thought he could find the answer in this man. Thought that there would be some reason he was chosen over everyone else, some reason that he would be able to use to figure all of this out, to find the missing people, to find Dean.

Scrolling through a search engine's photo search for Piotr Locklyn, he was actually surprised to find so many pictures of the man. Apparently he had an album up somewhere online. Sam was looking for recent pictures, hoping one of them would hold something, anything, that would give him a clue here.

"Give me something," Sam whispered to himself. He sighed as he reached the end of the image search results. This wasn't helping. Three hours of searching for information on this man, and Sam had wasted them. Three hours he could have been out looking for his brother, out trying to find Dean before it was too late. He didn't know what would happen to him, but he could feel it in his bones that something bad would happen. Inevitably, in Sam's mind, Dean wasn't walking away from this one unscathed. His brother had been through a lot in his lifetime, but this? Being taken from his bed? It was a whole new level on intrusion for Sam. Something had come into their room and taken his brother while Sam sleep just two feet away? How could Dean just walk away from something that was capable of that?

Sam glanced at his phone laying on the table next to the laptop. He didn't know who to call, save for one person. And that one person probably wouldn't bother picking up the phone. Not because he didn't care, but because he did. Because neither side wanted to give away the other's position to the demon that was hunting them, the same way they were hunting it.

Was four weeks enough time to have between contact with his father? Would John even get the message? Even hear his son's quavering voice as he broke down and told him that his brother was missing, that John's oldest son had been taken, been stolen? He doubted his father would call back. He doubted his father would do anything. Had John done anything when Dean had been dying? Had he called to see how it had turned out? If his son was still alive? No, so why should he call if Dean was simply missing? Maybe he'd call if Dean was dead. Maybe he'd call Sam to tell him that he failed his brother, that he failed them all, that he let his favorite son die.

Sam shook his head. It wasn't going to be like that. He was going to find Dean and then the two of them would get the hell out of here and take a vacation. He'd make Dean talk about emotions and all that funny stuff that Dean never liked getting into. He'd make Dean tell him about how scary it was go to sleep in a warm, safe bed, and wake up alone and scared. He'd make Dean tell him, he'd listen to him yell and scream and cry and get all of those emotions out. Because Sam had just about enough of those near tears of Dean's. The kind of tears that linger inside the eyes and never fall, no matter how utterly lost he's feeling. The kind of tears Sam just wants to smack out of his brother while screaming for him to just let go, for once. Just let go of all that hurt and let someone take care of him.

Turning back to the computer screen, Sam paused as he glanced over a web address. He frowned and straightened a little. That was odd. It was some sort of hate site. Sam hadn't found anything but good stuff on Piotr Locklyn. Someone hated him? Sam's heart leapt as he clicked on it and a devilish looking website popped up. It was a journal of some type. He read a few entries and then found the one with Locklyn's picture. Nothing much was said about him, other than the author had gotten mad at the man for shutting down his family's business. He talked about how he'd like to get revenege and how he thought he'd found a way. Sam perked up at that. The entry never said what that way was, but at the end, the author wished Locklyn a good night's sleep.

"Gotcha," Sam hissed and clicked on the author's profile page. His eyes widened as a picture came up. He knew that guy. Only the last time he'd seen him, Dean had been pummeling his face with his fist in the middle of a bar. He was half of the two locals Dean had hustled at the bar. Sam growled and grabbed his jacket. He paused before slipping a gun into his jeans. "Dammit, Dean," he cursed as he ran outside to the Impala. "You sure know how to pick them."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

As Sam stalked up to the front door of the bar, he wondered when he'd thrown away his normal cautionary attitude in situations like this. It had probably slipped away the moment he'd woken up alone. The moment he realized that Dean was gone, that his brother had been taken from right beneath Sam's nose. Two feet. Two fucking feet had been separating their bed. Sam could have dashed across that space in milliseconds. He could have wrapped his arms around his brother's waist and made sure that they stuck together, that they didn't break up the team. Because that's what they were, a team. _We made one hell of a team back there,_ had been Dean's words. And Sam had agreed. They had, the did, they always would. It was Sam and Dean, Dean and Sam. It wasn't Sam minus a Dean. He wondered if this was how his brother had felt when Sam had gone missing. When he'd been taken by those backwoods hicks and put in a cage. The memory still disturbed him. It would always disturb him. He only hoped that he would be able to mimic what had happened last time and find his brother relatively unscathed. Hell, he'd take the fucking fire poker this time if it meant they both could walk away from this.

Sam jogged up the stairs and opened the door. He ignored the unilluminated open sign in the window and let himself in, closing the door tightly behind him. The bar was less smokey and uncharacteristically quiet during the day. But it still had that bar smell to it. Years of smoke, spilled beer, sweat and blood and dirt soaked into the walls and the furniture. It just reminded him of Dean.

"We're not open yet," a voice called from behind the counter. Sam bent his head slightly and spotted the man standing with his back to him. He was putting up new bottles of whiskey, gin and rum onto the shelf behind him. Sam could tell it was the same bartender from last night. Perfect.

"I'm not here for a drink," Sam said lowly and started walking towards the bar.

The bartender turned around and eyed Sam before his face grew serious and he gave Sam a stern look. "Buddy, you got a lot of nerve..."

"I need your help," Sam cut him off and the man paused, frowning at him. "Those guys from last night, I think-"

The man sighed loudly to show Sam he didn't want to hear what he had to say. He leaned against the bar and glared at Sam. "It was a bar fight kid, get over it and move on."

"You don't understand..."

"Don't make me call the Sheriff."

Sam took a deep breath, his nostrils flaring in an almost unbridled annoyance. When he didn't move, the bartender reached for the phone behind him. Sam chewed his lip for a second before nodding. If that's the way this was going to go. He yanked the gun out of his belt and pointed it at the bartender. Dean was going to love hearing about this. His little brother, the criminal. "Please," he said, wincing when his voice shook. The bartender looked up and his eyes instantly fell on the gun. A small smirk came to his lips, but Sam was guessing it wasn't because he found this situation humorous. He slammed the phone down.

"You here to rob me?" he spat menacingly. 

"No," Sam shook his head and the guy frowned. "I just need to know who those guys were and where I can find them, that's all."

"They're locals, they come in here all the time," the bartender said and before Sam could ask another question he went on. "Look, they're just big and stupid. Your friend probably rubbed them the wrong way, that's all. There's no need to make this personal."

Sam could have laughed at that statement. Oh buddy, this was as personal as it got. He took a deep breath and the bartender's eyes went back to the gun. Sam made sure that he held it as steady as possible, not wanting to spook this guy into getting that shotgun out. "I think they have my brother," Sam whispered and watched the bartender close his mouth at the statement. Something in the bartender's eyes made Sam go on. The guy was recognizing something. "He went missing last night and I think they had something to do with it."

"Kid, I can't..."

"He's all I have." Same broke. In more ways than one. His voice quavered, his eyes watered, and whatever force that had been holding him together thus far cracked all the way up the middle and was now threatening to split apart and let Sam fall to pieces. He had nothing left. There was nothing left inside of him he could use to convince this man that he wasn't just going after these guys out of revenge. Revenge was a secondary thing now. First and foremost, this was about Dean. This was about feeling like all of Sam's safety nets had suddenly vanished. If he fell now, it was all over, there was no one there to catch him. He needed Dean, more than he'd ever needed him. They were brothers. Brothers. There wasn't a closer bond for Sam. The word brother meant it all, meant everything. Brothers meant that no matter how much you pissed each other off, no matter how bad things got, or how much you disagreed, or how much you fought and needed to get away, there would always be a bond. Brothers didn't just stop being brothers. It was a lifetime gig. One that Sam wasn't ready to give up. He'd never be ready to give up.

The bartender sighed and looked away, his face contemplative for a moment. Then he looked back up at Sam with sad eyes. "What makes you think they took him?"

Sam hesitated only momentarily before answering. "Because I think they have something to do with the disappearances lately." 

"How do you know about those?" the bartender asked, his eyes widening.

Sam lowered the gun finally, but held it down at his side instead of putting it back in his belt. "We were investigating them," he answered and not wanting to elaborate, he went on. "Please, anything you can tell me about them. I want to stop them. I want to get my brother back."

The bartender was quiet at first. But then he looked up and said, "Lyle and Keith Marx. They're brothers. They live on a farm a few miles up the road."

Sam nodded to the man. "Thank you," he whispered, sincerely. Then he headed to the door.

"Hey!" Sam turned around and eyed the man, half expecting to see a shotgun aimed at his head. But instead, the man just stood there, looking forlorn and torn. "Don't kill them." Sam didn't make a move to accept or decline the order. He'd never killed another human being before. He didn't know if this would make him start. He wanted to assure the man that he wasn't a killer, but apparently, that's not what the bartender was worried about. "They're not worth the bullets."

Sam answered with a half smile before he was out the door and heading towards the Marx's farm.

"I've already tried that door a thousand times."

Dean ignored the know-it-all comment and banged his shoulder into the wooden door a few more times. It didn't even budge. There had to be another layer of something harder on the other side. On the last attempt to bust the door open, Dean hit his shoulder just wrong and sucked in a breath before he merely leaned against the door with his eyes closed. He heard Alex shuffle his feet behind him and was glad the kid decided to keep his mouth shut. Though Alex had been wearing a Metallica shirt, Dean had found out quickly that the kid was more like Sam in every other way but taste in music. He had the whiney, broody teenager persona that Sam pulled off so well. Dean hated that he was so attached to the kid because of that.

"Are you sure this is the door they come in from?" Dean asked at last, turning around to look at Alex, who had taken a seat on a piece of machinery. He nodded. "Shit. There's no other way out?" 

Alex shook his head. "No. There's one other door, but I can't get it open."

"Where is it?" Dean asked, pushing himself off the door and watching as Alex stood up and started walking. It was slow going as they tried not to trip over anything or bump their heads on any of the larger machines in the room. Dean tried to figure out what the machines were, but couldn't really tell in the darkness. Some sort of assembly line, processing thing. "You don't know what these machines are for, do you?" he chanced.

"I'm not sure but I think they might be used for car parts or something," Alex answered, holding his hand up and motioning for Dean to duck under part of the line. Dean did and looked back at the machines. Car parts? No, these weren't for cars. The rolling lines were too small, a car wouldn't fit on one.

Dean cleared his throat. "What makes you say that?" he asked. 

Alex stopped and pointed up. Dean followed his finger and frowned. "There's hooks all along the top of them. I thought they used to hang car doors from hooks in the older assembly lines." Dean stared hard at the curved hooks. No, those definitely weren't for cars. The tips were pointed with a small serated latch on the edge. Damn. That couldn't be good. He jumped when Alex kept talking. "I mean, I don't really know much about cars, but in my History class we were watching a documentary on Henry Ford and we saw all the early assembly line footage and everything." Alex's voice was quavering and Dean wondered if he even knew what he was saying. "They probably finished the video and moved on to the next chapter. I read ahead in the book so I could be ready for class. I even outlined the first part of the chapter..."

Dean reached out then and put a hand on Alex's shoulder. Sure enough, the kid jumped and turned wide eyes towards Dean. "We'll get out of here," he said softly. Alex nodded, his breath shuddering as he drew it in. Dean gave his shoulder a squeeze before letting go. "Now where's this door?" Alex turned and started walking. Dean gave one last look at the ugly hooks before following him. "So, Alex," Dean started, hearing the kid's breathes start to hitch. Gotta keep him calm. "These two guys, they don't happen to be big, ugly, smelly, and the kind to start bar fights, are they?"

Alex turned to look at him. "Maybe," he said. "Why?"

"Figures," Dean muttered before smiling at Alex and then looking past him. "Is that the door?"

Alex turned around. "Yeah," he said and stood in front of it. "It's locked, just like the other one."

Dean chewed on the inside of his cheek and looked at the door. It was metal. It was also cold to the touch. Colder than it should have been. Alex sighed and sat down again. He was hugging himself tightly, still shivering. Dean was fighting back shivers of his own. The cold seemed to be radiating off of this door.

A sudden screeching sound from behind them made both Dean and Alex jump and spin around. Dean instinctively held and arm out in front of the kid. Both were quiet, listening for the sound to come back. Dean leaned towards Alex after a little bit. "Has that happened before?" he asked.

Alex shook his head. "No," he said, his voice small and terrified. "What was that?" 

A few scenarios came to mind but Dean didn't voice them. "Nothing good," he said instead.

A click from behind them had them both jumping again. Alex yelped a little and took a step closer to Dean, who touched his arm without realizing he needed the contact to ensure himself the kid was still there. Dean looked at the handle to the door. It was turned. He bit his lip, knowing that when a door mysteriously unlocked itself, it was never for good reasons. God what he wouldn't give for a weapon of _some_ kind.

"The door's unlocked," Alex stated outloud. 

"Yeah I can see that."

"Well how'd it come unlocked?" Alex asked, his breath shuddering again.

"Hate to break it to you, kid," Dean said as he reached forward and grasped the handle. "But I think that third person our friends the hillbillies were talking about isn't actually a person." 

"What?" Alex choked.

Dean didn't answer. Instead, he pulled on the handle. The door opened smoothely and a rush of cold air filtered out from behind it. There was a light on behind the door. Dean held back a groan as he saw the ice lining the wall immediately inside the doorframe. It confirmed what he first thought about the door. This was a freezer. And there weren't many factories that required freezers. Dean started putting the pieces together and the conclusion he came up with wasn't a very good one. 

Pulling the door open all the way, he had to look away at the sudden light, but Dean heard Alex gasp and then cover his mouth, struggling to keep from crying out. Dean looked back and froze at what he saw behind the door. He swallowed the bile that had crept up the back of his throat.

"God," Alex gasped out. "Is...is that...are those...human?" he asked.

"Yeah," Dean nodded. Alex immediately turned and lost his lunch. Okay Sam, now would be a good time to show up and bust them out of here. Because, little brother, this was going to leave some serious mental scarring. God, Sammy, I've never needed you more.

Inside the freezer hung the bodies of the other five missing persons in multiple stages of dismemberment and mutilation. They were hanging from larger versions of the hooks on the machines. Some had started to be skinned, the muscles showing red and white and yellow. Just meat in a freezer, ready to be processed.

They were in a fucking slaughter house.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

_"Don't ever do that again."_

"Do what?"

"Go missing like that."

It should have gone both ways. It should have been a universal rule by now. Missing Winchesters were becoming more and more frequent. Maybe this was some sort of deep down Freudian bullshit making them want to be more like their father. Sam could almost picture his subconscious right now, that little five year old boy with the runny nose and bright eyes, just screaming, "I want to be like Daddy so let's go missing!" Oh boy, they could make a game out of it. Which Winchester can go missing the most? John was probably in the lead. Sam wondered how many he had. Let's see, most recently there was his romp with the psycho Bender family, and then there was that time when he was six and wanted to hide from his family, oh, did going away to college count?

Or maybe Sam just wanted to find a way to blame John Winchester for this mess. Maybe he wanted to be able to think of his Dad and just be angry with him for not protecting his sons the way he should. For not coming with them after Chicago, for not telling Dean to shut the fuck up, they're a family so they stick together. Maybe he just wanted to stop blaming himself. Stop thinking about how the hell he could have slept through his own brother's kidnapping. How he should have been able to see this coming. He'd let down his guard, slipped back into the role of sheltered little brother, reverted back into the thirteen year old who thought Dean rivaled God and could do and handle anything this world threw at him. He'd forgotten his brother was capable of leaving, of failing, of hurting, of dying. He'd forgotten that sometimes even Dean needed to be protected, to be saved.

Sam pulled the Impala to a quiet stop behind a shed on the Marx farm and hoped that if anyone was home, or came home, that they wouldn't noticed it. He wished there was a place he could park it that was a bit more inconspicuous, but the farm was right off the main road and there wasn't really anything but open fields and a few scattered birch trees. The land was flat and anywhere Sam parked, he was going to be spotted. He thought about parking it a few miles up the road and walking back, but if Dean was in there, and even the slightest bit hurt, it would be a good idea to have the car close at hand. Sam wondered why his brother even owned a car like this one. Why not some car that didn't scream "look at me" to everyone it passed by. This was a pretty flashy car for someone who lived so secretively. Not that Dean ever chose his cars for practicality. 

The farmhouse looked quiet. There were no lights on and there wasn't a car in the driveway. Sam waited for a second, watching the windows to see if anyone would peak out at the sound of the Impala's engine. But after a few moments when there was no movement, Sam decided that the house was empty. Or else those two bumbling idiots from the bar weren't exactly bumbling and weren't exactly idiots. Sam checked his gun one more time and felt the pocketknife he'd slipped into his pocket after he'd met with the bartender. He thought briefly back to his time spent in the creepy automatic locking cage and wondered if he should bother bringing his lock pick set. Nah, he'd just shoot the lock out if it was necessary.

Getting out of the car, he closed the door quietly and then snuck up onto the back porch. There were two rocking chairs facing out towards the barn and the cornfield. They looked old and worn. He wondered if these two guys were really farmers or if that was just an act they pulled to cover up their serial killer sides. Sam cringed at the word "killer." He didn't know they were killers for sure. Just because the bodies were never found, that didn't make them killers. They could just be lonely and have everyone locked in a room somewhere. Right?

The porch creaked under Sam's feet and he froze, eyes shifting between all of the visible windows. When he didn't see anyone or anything looking back at him, he took a deep breath to calm his nerves and them pulled open the screen door. To his luck, the backdoor was unlocked and it opened with only minimal squeaking. The inside of the house actually looked nice. Not anything like the last psycho family's house they'd been to. There were decorations made out of cloth and lace and clay instead of skin and hair and teeth. It looked lived in, but also tidy. Sam would have never guessed this house belonged to Lyle and Keith, the two idiots.

The downstairs of the house didn't help Sam at all. There were pictures of both Lyle and Keith on the walls, but other than that, there was nothing that would point to these guys being serial killers, or kidnappers. The upstairs was the same way. Nothing out of the ordinary. No secret room stashing body parts or video tapes or Polaroids. Just an average house. Sam sighed and leaned against the window. God, what if he'd been wrong? What if these guys weren't the ones who took Dean and all those other people? Sam's heart sank at the thought and a lump formed in his throat. He bit back tears that were threatening to come to his eyes. No, he wouldn't give up hope. He was going to find Dean. He _had_ to find Dean.

Leaning his head against the window, Sam looked outside at the Impala. He pictured Dean sitting on the hood, looking up at him and giving him one of those classic Dean Winchester looks. He could just imagine his brother complaining for Sam to hurry up, that he was bored and needed a cheeseburger. A nice big, fat one with bacon and barbeque sauce. And an extra order of fries, with lots of pepper. Sam smiled to himself as he heard Dean's voice inside his head, drooling over the prospect of some greasy food. If he found Dean, he would buy him as many greasy cheeseburgers as he wanted. 

Shrugging away from the window, Sam headed back downstairs, intent on going to check out the barn as a last resort. If there was nothing in the barn, he wasn't sure what he was going to do. Looking outside one more time to make sure no one had pulled up while he was upstairs, Sam headed out the back and down the steps. He got two steps away from the house before his eyes caught something he hadn't seen when he first showed up. There were a pair of cellar doors off to the side. There was a chain holding them shut. Someone wanted to keep people out of the cellar. So, naturally, Sam wanted to get in. 

Jogging to the car, he opened the trunk and found the ax his brother kept there. Sam had always teased him about it. Because honestly, when would they ever need an ax? Besides right now, of course. He walked back to the cellar doors and lined up the weapon, ready for a swing. Three hits later, the chain fell away and Sam threw the ax to the side. He pulled open the cellar doors and paused for just a second, listening for any movement. There wasn't any and he headed down, closing the doors behind him.

It was pitch black in the cellar and Sam had to wait at the base of the stairs as he dug into his pockets, looking for his lighter. Bringing it out, he flicked on the flame and saw a string dangling from the center of the room. Tugging it on, the cellar was suddenly light up brightly and Sam had to shield his eyes for a moment before they adjusted. When they did, Sam's stomach dropped at what he saw.

He'd found himself suddenly caught up in some extreme deja vu. And he didn't like where it was taking him. On the other side of the room there was a table that was littered with candles and incense and medallions and an assortment of other items. There were pictures taped to the wall above the table and crosses were hung upside down in every corner of the room. In the center, right in front of Sam, there was a large symbol painted onto the floor in what Sam assumed was blood. It only took him a second to realize what he was looking at. A black altar. Just like the one SueAnn LeGrange had been using to control the reaper that had healed Dean. Only, judging by the crosses and the symbol on the floor, this one wasn't controlling a reaper. This one was controlling something far more powerful.

"Shit," Sam whispered as he carefully stepped around the symbol and headed over to the altar. He took a closer look at the pictures hanging on the wall. He recognized Piotr Locklyn and a couple of the other missing persons. There wasn't one of Dean, but Sam didn't think it was necessary, because as he looked down at the altar, he saw a familiar looking pendant laying in a small silver dish right in the middle. He practically growled as he fished it out and closed his fist around it. Dean never took this off. Never.

Sam took a deep breath to calm the rage building inside of him and stepped back, ready to kick the altar over. But he paused as he heard the sound of a car pulling up. His eyes widened and he ran towards the cellar door, quietly going up the steps and then pausing, one hand on the door. He listened as a car door opened and closed. It sounded close and he prayed that whoever it was wouldn't see the Impala. But his heart skipped a beat as he realized he'd left the ax and the broken chain right outside the cellar door. Stupid, stupid, he berated himself.

"What the hell?" Came the deep voice from outside and Sam knew that whoever was out there had just found his ax. He turned around and looked for a place to hide. Spotting a table at the far edge of the room, he dashed to the center and flicked the light off. Then he felt his way through the dark over to the table and got down, hoping it would be enough to hide him.

A few seconds later, the cellar doors opened and the lights clicked on. Sam tensed and quietly prayed that he'd get lucky just one more time.

Dean slammed the freezer door shut. He put his forehead against it for a moment and closed his eyes, trying to get the images of the skinless, dismembered bodies out of his head. It was probably an impossible task. He'd be thinking about those bodies until he was dead or had Alzheimers. And even then they'd probably find a way to haunt him. Spooks and monsters he could handle. It was the dead things that always got to him.

"Shouldn't we see if...if anyone's still alive?" Alex's voice was shaking and small. Dean rolled his head to eye the teenager. He looked terrified and Dean didn't blame him. Anyone in their right mind would be terrified. Dean was probably the closest to terrified he came these days. He'd been scared shitless a couple of times, most recently when he'd watched his little brother and father being torn away from him by Daevas, but that was a different type of fear. It wasn't often Dean felt fear for himself. And if he did, he usually didn't acknowledge it.

Deciding that it was probably time to take some action, Dean pushed himself away from the freezer and turned to look at the machinery that filled the room. "I'm gonna worry about us still being alive for right now," he said, ignoring the way his own voice shook a bit. He blamed it on the cold. "How long has it been since they fed you?" he asked, walking over to one of the machines. He found some strong structures and started to climb it, towards the hooks. Alex watched with confusion from below.

"I don't know," he answered and Dean grunted, partly from the climb and partly in irritation. "A while."

"Well we're gonna be ready when they come back," he muttered and wrapped a hand around one of the hooks on top of the machine. He yanked on it and hissed when it didn't budge. "Come on," he grit out and pulled again. There was a slight shift and one more yank pulled it from its spot. Dean gave a triumphant sigh and jumped down. "Hold this," he handed it to Alex, who held the hook in his palms like it was precious china. Dean headed to the assembly line and squatted down, looking beneath it. He grinned and gave a quiet, "Here we go," as he found the chain beneath the line, like a bigger version of a bicycle chain.

Alex watched Dean tear the chain off, using brute strength and a few choice swear words, to do so. He licked his lips and said, "How do you know how to do all this stuff?" he asked.

Dean turned his head slightly to look at him, but then continued working on the chain. "Boy Scouts," he answered as the chain came loose, causing him to fall backwards. He pushed himself up and brushed off as he took the hook from Alex. 

"Boy Scouts?" Alex asked. "You learned all this in Boy Scouts?"

Dean glanced up at him with a small grin. "Yeah, what do you think they teach you? Basket making?" 

That earned a small chuckle from Alex and Dean's smile grew wider. Good to hear the kid laugh. Dean managed to attach the hook onto one end of the chain. He wrapped the other end tightly in his fist and nodded to Alex. "All right, so when they get here, I'm gonna hide down here, you stand right there." He pointed with his chin as he gave the instructions. "You make them come to you. I'll jump them, we'll get out of here, and you'll be watching Regis before you know it."

"Regis?" Alex scoffed and Dean grinned. "I'll be watching CSI."

Dean squatted down on the floor and got into his hiding spot. "Las Vegas or Miami?" he continued the small talk.

"New York," Alex crossed his arms over his chest.

"You're a sick kid, Alex," Dean joked and Alex rolled his eye. He looked as if he were about to retort, but there was a sudden click near the door. Dean's eyes widened. He couldn't believe their timing. Alex looked suddenly terrified again and Dean held a finger to his lips and Alex nodded as he looked away, watching the door as it unlatched and opened. Dean tried to stay as still and quiet as possible, listening to the door and watching Alex try to keep it together. The kid was shaking horribly.

Dean could hear the footsteps, but he frowned as he realized there was only one pair. Hadn't Alex said there were two of them? Plus a third? What if this was the third? Dean gripped the chain in his hand tighter. Well he'd just have to deal with that, now wouldn't he? Either way he was going to kill this bastard and get himself and Alex out of here. Find Sam, let the authorities know about the bodies, and then they were getting the hell out of this state.

"Chow time, boy," the deep voice said. Dean held his breath. He recognized that voice. Though, the last time he'd heard it, there'd been a fist in his eye. So it was the guys from the bar. Maybe Sam was right. Maybe it was time to stop hustling. A day job couldn't hurt, could it? Not worse than this.

"I'm not hungry," Alex said and Dean gave the kid props for sounding so strong. He was liking this kid more and more. A lot smarter than some of the teenagers they came across. 

There was a pause. "I didn't ask if you was hungry." 

"I'm not going to eat your stupid food!" Alex yelled and stood defiantly for a moment with his fists clenched. "So you can kiss my ass!" he added for good measure. Dean's eyebrows rose at that. He couldn't help but think, _you go, girl._

"Boy, I will skin you alive!" the guy shouted and Dean watched Alex's face pale and eyes go wide as they both realized that the guy probably really meant it. Alex took a few steps back and Dean's heart jumped to his throat as he thought the kid would run, but Alex bumped into one of the assembly lines and stopped, his eyes following the guy as he made his way towards him. "You'll learn to keep that mouth of yours shut!" he yelled and Dean heard him coming closer. He braced himself and as soon as he saw the guy's feet come into view, he pushed himself into action.

Things happened pretty fast after that. Dean thought he had the upper hand for a moment as he lashed out at the guy with the barbed hook. He managed to slice the man in the upper arm, but just like before, he realized that this guy was fast. Faster than he should have been. Dean barely had time to turn around and counter his own momentum when he felt a hand clamp around the back of his neck and shove him forward. His forehead hit the assembly line and for a second, he saw stars. It was a second too many as he felt the guy grab the chain in his hand and yank, effectively crushing Dean's hand. He wasn't sure if it was broken, but he didn't have time to think about it as the chain found its way around his neck.

Dean hadn't been expecting to lose control so quickly. He'd landed, what, one blow? One lousy blow. And now the chain was wrapped around his neck, cutting off his air, strangling him? That wasn't very Dean Winchester like. That wasn't Winchester like at all. Especially not since this guy was just an ordinary guy. Sure, he may be demented and twisted, but he was still just a guy. A guy who was pulling the chain tighter and crushing Dean's windpipe, making dots dance in front of his eyes and ears ring and eyes buldge and blood vessels pop.

He tried to reach back and fight. Tried to wrap his fingers in the guy's hair and tug, but he couldn't reach, he couldn't fight, couldn't breathe. He was losing. Losing in a big way. Oh, dammit. Sorry, Sammy, I tried. 

Suddenly, Dean heard screaming. Not the kind out of fear, but the kind when someone's getting ready to kick some ass. He was surprised when he realized it was Alex doing the screaming. He felt something collide into them and the chain around his neck loosened. He fell to his knees, unable to stand on his own and tried to suck in air. His throat was slowly opening again and he wondered if there was any damage done. Sure as hell felt like it. But he gasped and gasped and gasped until the air was coming in semi-smoothely. He could hear Alex and the guy scuffling behind him. He could almost hear his father's voice telling him to suck it up and get back in there. 

Dean was about to do just that when he heard the sound of someone getting punched, very harshly, and then he heard Alex grunt and cry out. He put a hand to his throat, ignoring the way the skin was sore to the touch, and turned. But when he met Alex's eye, it wasn't what he expected. Alex was staring at him with such fear that it took Dean a moment to realize the fear wasn't directed towards Alex, it was directed towards him. And Dean found out why a second later when there was a sharp, blinding pain in his shoulder. He couldn't help but cry out and the action made his throat burn anew. 

There was a tug that nearly sent Dean into unconsciousness, but he managed to shake it away and he looked down at his shoulder, eyes widening as he saw the barbed tip of the hook sticking out of his skin. The hook had gone in near his collar bone on his left shoulder and had twisted so it cam out beneath the bone, effectively hooking into his shoulder in one of the most painful ways Dean had ever experienced. He grit his teeth and sucked in air through his raw throat in an attempt to stay conscious and keep his stomach settled, though neither were really cooperating.

Another tug on the chain had Dean crying out again and he fell backward, forcing his legs to push himself as the chain was pulled. He held onto it with his hands and swore raspy curses as he was half dragged across the floor. When it finally stopped, Dean grit out a few more curses for good measure and listened through the pounding in his ears as the chain was latched to one of the legs of the assembly line. He stayed laying on his back for a moment, willing the pain to go away. He had to close his eyes for a moment when the darkness at the corners of his vision became to much. No, no he would not lose consciousness now. Not if there was a possiblity he'd wake up missing his skin or a body part or two. No fucking way.

A strong kick the side had Dean cursing again and he forced his eyes open to look at the guy standing over him with a grin. Dean just glared at him and would have made some witty retort if his dinner from the previous night weren't creeping it's way back up. The guy just chuckled and turned around. Dean put a hand to the wound on his shoulder and bit his lip so hard that it bled when he accidentally jarred the hook sticking out. Ah hell. Dean's hand came away wet and sticky. He was bleeding pretty bad. "Son of a bitch," he managed to rasp out as he looked at his hand.

"Eat," the man's voice came and Dean couldn't hear Alex's reply, but heard the kid shuffle across the floor and assumed he was finally obeying. A cell phone rang and it made Dean's vision blur for some reason. He closed his eyes and tried to make the room stop spinning. His shoulder was on fire. The sort of pain that could only be described as white hot. Prickling up and down his arm, pinching nerves, lighting his whole body on fire with fever. "Yeah?" the guy answered his phone. After a moment, he said something more that Dean lost among the blood pounding in his ears. Then he heard the guy loud and clear and whatever questions Dean had as to where his little brother was suddenly answered themselves. "Gotta go, boys. Trouble at home."

Fuck, Sammy.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

"Should I try to take it out?"

Dean kept his eyes closed for a second, though sighed to let Alex know that he'd heard him. He didn't really feel like opening his eyes. The nausea, the blood loss, the pain, it all just made Dean want to go to sleep, to curl up in his bed and wake up safe and cozy and warm with Sam sleeping closeby, nightmare free. Yeah, maybe if he just closed his eyes for a few minutes, he'd wake up and everything would be okay. Maybe he could somehow make this whole thing work in reverse. He woke up in a nightmare, right? So maybe if he went back to sleep he could wake up back where he was, back in his cheap motel room that smelled like carpet cleaner and ashtrays. But he knew that the last thing he should be doing right now was sleeping. If not solely because he was losing blood, then because there was a sixteen year old kid squatting in front of him trying to stop the bleeding but shaking so badly he was actually only making it worse.

So Dean opened his eyes and Alex immediately looked up at them, waiting for some sort of response, some sort of order. Man, was this how Dad felt in these types of situations? All those times when they were kids hunting with their father and things didn't go as planned, did his Dad sit there and wish he could just go to sleep and wake up when it was all over? No, of course not. John Winchester was a Marine. He was a soldier. He kept his head straight in situations like this, and he'd trained his sons to do the same. So Dean had to step up to the task, yet again. And though Dean thrived for this hero business, he couldn't deny that there were times when he wished someone else could just take care of the situation. That someone else could bust in here guns blazing and be the hero. Because sometimes even Dean got tired of it. But he'd never admit it.

"No," Dean rasped through his bruised throat. Man, was that really his voice? Bastard better not have left permanent damage. Although some girls might find it sexy. "Leave it." He watched as Alex tore one of his pajama pant legs off and waded it up before pressing it gently around the hook. Dean still grunted in pain and had to close his eyes for a moment against the dizziness. After it passed, he looked back down at the protruding hook and glared at it. It looked like the hook had entered somewhere near his neck and the guy must have twisted it just so that it came out the front, just below his collarbone. The barbed end of the hook stuck out sorely and the blood that dripped from it was dark and heavy. He could feel the metal rubbing against bone and he knew if they tried to get it out now, they probably wouldn't be able to do it without snapping his collarbone in two. And that was a pain Dean had lived through once when he was fifteen and he wasn't about to do it again. There were some pains Dean could handle. A broken collarbone wasn't one of them.

"You're bleeding pretty bad," Alex whispered as he kept pressure on the wound. "It's not stopping," Alex's voice hitched and Dean's eyes travelled back to the kid's face. He looked close to crying. Dean watched him for a second as Alex struggled to keep his tears back. Tough guy. "I don't know what to do," he admitted after a moment and Dean moved his good hand and put it on Alex's arm.

"Hey," he said and Alex met his eyes. "You're doing fine," he said quietly, not exactly sure what else he was supposed to say. Whenever Sam berated himself like this, he could always come up with something to say. He'd either make him laugh or pull rank on him. Big brothers were allowed to pull rank. It was part of being a big brother. But he didn't know what to do for Alex. The kid was terrified, that's for sure, and Dean was pretty sure that when they got out of this, he'd have lasting symptoms of traumatization. So what could he possibly say to make this kid feel better? Was there really anything? Well, maybe one thing. "You know, some chicks would find this whole hook think pretty kinky."

Alex paused in his attempt to staunch the blood flow and looked at Dean with arched eyebrows. Dean grinned and Alex let out a scoff that sounded too much like Sam. "You've got a meat hook through your shoulder. I don't think any girl would find this kinky."

Dean just broadened his smile. "Well you've met Sheila," he chuckling but instantly stopped when it jarred his shoulder. "This is her kind of kink." 

"That's sick," Alex said, going back to pressing the now soaked pant leg to the wound. He cringed when the blood started seeping onto his hands.

"Don't knock it till you try it," Dean sucked in a breath at the new pressure, but kept his face straight. "What? You never had a girlfriend with some funky fetish before?"

Alex shook his head. "I'm sixteen," he gave as an answer.

"Ah, Alex, my man," Dean said, closing his eyes and leaning his head back. Damn, did someone turn up the heat? Hadn't it just been freezing a few minutes ago? "Never too early to start."

Alex chuckled and Dean smiled at the sound. That was more like it. He shifted a little at his sudden uncomfortableness. His head felt heavy and he could feel sweat break out on the back of his neck and on his forehead. Man, wasn't he supposed to be cold if he was going into shock? Because he sure as hell wasn't cold. It was like he was sitting in a fucking sauna.

"Dean?" Alex's voice startled him back to awareness and he opened his eyes, seeing the kid was now looking at him wide eyed again. He pushed himself up a little straighter, realizing he probably thought Dean had passed out. "You okay?" he asked.

Dean forced a laugh. "You ask stupider questions than my brother," he said. Alex half smiled, but there was still worry etched across his face. "I'm fine, man," he finally answered. Alex nodded. "How's your face? He knocked you pretty hard there."

"It's fine," Alex said, touching his swelling eye. "Girls like the tough guy look," he joked.

Dean laughed, which turned into a wince. "Now you're catching on."

Their laughter was short lived when they heard the sound of the door opening again. Dean tensed and Alex seemed to freeze like a deer in headlights. Dean reached up and took the cloth around the wound on his shoulder, holding it as he nodded for Alex to stand up and see what was going on. Alex looked hesitant at first but then did so, clenching his fists and waiting, slightly rocking side to side as he did so. Dean tried to push himself into a standing position, but he could only get so far before the chain still attached to the hook would give him a tug. He sat back down, heavily, and grit his teeth against the sudden new flare of firey agony in his shoulder. The dizziness almost claimed him this time, but he managed to gather himself. He had to spit a couple of times when the nausea made his mouth salivate. And damn if the heat he'd felt just a moment ago flared up again and sweat beaded on his skin anew. He knew pretty soon he'd start to feel cold again, when the blood loss got to be too much. He wasn't looking forward to it.

The wooden door leading to the outside opened harshly and Dean heard a scuffling, followed by some muffled grunts. His eyes shot open as he recognized the voice. New panic and anger made him forget for a moment about the pain and the fever and he pushed himself up as far as the chain would allow him. He could just barely see over the assembly line and the light from the outside silhouetted three figures. Two which were clearly the bar brawlers and one which Dean could recognize anywhere. It was Sam.

One of the guys reached forward and pulled something from Sam's mouth. Dean noticed that his brother's hands were tied behind his back and there had been a gag in his mouth and a blindfold still rested around his eyes. But that, too, was soon removed and he watched Sam blink a couple of times, eyes adjusting to the dark. The guys didn't give him a chance to orient himself as they shoved him forward, where he hit one of the assembly lines with his hip before falling to the floor in a heap. Then they left as abruptly as they'd come, neither one looking in their direction. Dean growled in anger and before thinking better of it, he moved forward and was immediately tugged back by the chain. He could help but cry out. And a dark fog settled over his eyes and around his brain for a moment. He could vaguely hear Sam grunt.

"Dean?" Sam called out a moment later, having heard his brother's cry. Dean wanted to answer his brother, but his head was spinning and he was finding it hard to remain in a sitting position. The floor seemed to be tilting back and forth, like he was on a boat. Dean had never liked boats.

"He's over here," Alex's voice was quiet, unsure. Dean heard Sam grunt and then there were footsteps coming their way. "Who are you?" Alex asked.

"Sam," was the answer and before Dean could register how close the voice had been, there were hands on his face. The coolness of the skin made him jolt and he could hear his brother shush him quietly. "I'm his brother."

"I tried to stop the bleeding," Alex said meakly.

Sam's hands were close together, cupping Dean's chin and holding his head up. "Jesus," he whispered under his breath and Dean guessed that Sam had spotted the hook. All right, time to say hi. He forced his eyes open, which took a lot more effort than it should have, and saw Sam eyeing the hook in his shoulder with disgust and horror on his face. Sam's hands were still tied together at the wrists, only he had somehow managed to get them in front of him. Then Sam's eyes moved up and the met Dean's and for a moment the brothers just stared at each other. Dean took stop of his little brother. Of the swelling left cheek, of the split lip, of the tears glistening in his eyes. And he guessed Sam was doing the same with him. He thought guiltily that he hadn't been as worried as he should have been. He'd just assumed Sam was safe, back at their motel room, sleeping away like nothing had been happening. God, had they had Sam this whole time? Had they been doing things to him? Had he really failed that badly? Finally, Sam spoke. "Dean?"

It took a moment, but Dean found his voice. "You okay?" he asked.

Sam let out a relieved chuckle and and smiled, though it looked like he was only smiling to keep from crying. "Yeah, Dean," he answered and quickly looked him over again. "You know, when we had that whole talk about not going missing again, I assumed it went both ways." Dean grinned and Sam's smile grew a little.

"Just trying to keep you on your toes," Dean answered. "What happened to you?"

Sam finally let go of Dean's face and turned slightly towards Alex, who came forward and helped him untie the rope around his wrists. Then he moved to Dean's side and looked at the chain attached to the hook. "Oh, you know, woke up to find my big brother missing, held a gun to some guy's head, snuck into a farmhouse, found out they got a demon doing their dirty work, then got my ass kicked." Sam paused as he grabbed the chain and started trying to detach it from the hook. "I owe you a Colt by the way, your's got stolen."

"Ow! Fuck, stop it!" Dean yelled as Sam's hand jerked and the hook jarred inside Dean's shoulder. The scraping of metal against bone made Dean's head spin again and he felt one of Sam's hands brace his chest to keep him upright. Dean closed his eyes until the dizziness passed and when he opened them again, he found that Alex had come back and was holding the cloth around the hook again, watching as Sam went back to fiddling with the chain.

"Where'd you get this hook anyway?" Sam asked, his voice obviously distressed. That wasn't a good sign.

Dean held up a shaky hand and waved it absently. "Welcome to the slaughter house," he said hoarsely. Sam paused what he was doing to look around the room, actually look. Dean heard him suck in a breath before he busied himself with the chain again. "Definitely a fixer upper," he mumbled, frowning when his eyes slipped closed again.

"There's bodies in the freezer." Both Winchesters froze and looked at Alex, who couldn't meet their eyes, trapped in his own fear. Dean looked towards his brother who glanced at him and they exchanged silent words that made it clear that they needed to find a way out of here, now. "They're missing parts. And...and the skin..." 

"Hey," Dean said gruffly, surprising both Alex and Sam. Alex looked up at him. "Sammy here is a hero in training and he's gonna get us out of here." Dean felt his brother's grip tighten on his shoulder but chose to ignore the look he knew was on Sam's face. "I mean he's just a sidekick, but I was thinking about giving him a promotion pretty soon."

Alex smiled at the joke. But the door to the outside suddenly rattled again, startling them all. Dean swore when Sam's hands shook the chain. Sam instantly leaned forward to get a look at Dean's face, taking note of the sweat streaking his forehead and neck. He'd already noticed the cold clammy feel to his brother's skin, and every minute he was getting more and more worried that Dean had lost too much blood. But he pushed those fears aside as he stood up, standing protectively in front of his brother with Alex behind his shoulder and watched the door open.

"Sorry to break up the party," came the gruff voice of one of the locals as they entered the room. Sam glared heavily at him, wishing that they hadn't found his gun and knife. They'd snuck up on him in that basement, something which Sam was still trying to figure out. But he guessed they weren't exactly playing fair. They'd moved too quickly for big, bulky farmers. Sam guessed they had some sort of demon steroids working for them. There was no way they could have snuck up on him. He'd been paying extra close attention to his surroundings lately. He wouldn't ever be snuck up on again. Well, starting now.

They made their way across the room, with flashlights held out in front of them, towards where Sam, Dean and Alex were. Sam bent down a little, wanting to be close enough to his brother so they couldn't sneakily get passed him and get to Dean. Alex backed up a bit, his breath hitching in his throat. The kid sounded like he may hypervenhilate.

When they came to stand in front of Sam, the shorter of the two, which Sam had found out was Lyle, went to grab Alex's arm, but Sam pushed Alex behind him. Lyle looked annoyed and jutted his jaw.

Keith, the taller man, laughed and pointed a finger at Alex. "He says you're ready, boy," he said and Sam heard Alex's breath break and something like a muffled sob slipped out. Keith's eyes went to Sam. "You're going to get out of my way." It wasn't a question.

"No," Sam said sternly, bracing himself. 

"Suit yourself," Lyle spat and lunged forward, a fist swinging at Sam's head. He managed to duck beneath it, but Lyle's body collided with him a second later, sending them both tumbling to the ground, Sam tripping over Dean's legs that lay outstretched. He heard his brother yell something semi-coherent that sounded like a threat, but when Sam's head smacked against the ground, he couldn't really make out what Dean had yelled. He felt Lyle land two punches to his face before the man got off of him. He lay there, stunned for a moment that one guy could move so fast and land in so many punches without Sam getting time to land one.

"No!" Alex's terrified voice broke into Sam's thoughts and he forced himself back into the moment. He shoved himself off the ground and watched Alex wrestle with Keith, the man having wrapped his massive arms around the kid, effectively pinning Alex into a defenseless position. Keith turned and started carrying Alex back towards the freezer. "No! Stop, please!" Alex screamed, his voice so full of fear that Sam felt panic well up inside of him. He barely knew the kid, but hell if he was going to stand there and let him get taken away.

"Sam!" Dean suddenly yelled and Sam turned to look at him, but saw that his brother was trying to get to his feet, the chain connected to the hook in his shoulder preventing him from doing so, but it looked as though Dean was willing to let it just rip out if it meant stopping them from taking Alex away. Sam shoved his brother back down and turned around, ready to run after Keith.

Lyle got in his way, pushing Sam back so he hit the assembly line Dean was attached to. He stood between them and Keith, who was reaching the freezer.

"You bastard!" Dean suddenly screamed and kicked out with his feet, hitting one of Lyle's ankles. Both Sam and Dean were surprised when Lyle's ankle cracked with a snap, the bone snapping in two, and Lyle let out a scream. "Holy shit," Dean said, surprised.

From the back of the room, Keith had clamped a hand over Alex's mouth, shutting him up. He turned and looked at Lyle. "You're next you little shit!" Keith yelled and then looked at his brother. "Lyle, come on. We need to get this one ready. He's hungry!"

Sam watched Alex's struggles increase at that and Keith just squeezed tighter. Lyle growled and pointed a finger at Dean, though Sam had squatted down, blocking him, afraid Lyle would seek retribution for his broken ankle. But Lyle didn't seem to notice or care. "Don't go anywhere. He's just going to be an appetizer," Lyle cocked his head to the side, motioning towards Alex. He chuckled and then turned around, walking towards Keith, not even limping. That confirmed it within Sam that these guys had made some sort of deal with a demon. "Keith!" Lyle yelled as Keith let go of Alex's mouth and went to open the freezer. "Shut him up, I'm sick of hearing them scream."

Keith grinned and before Sam or Dean could think of a way to stop them, Keith grabbed Alex's head with both arms and gave a hard push. The crack was loud enough to echo around the room, followed closing by Dean's distressed gasp of, "No..." Sam stood still in front of his brother, shocked as he watched Alex's body go limp, watched his head hang loosely, his neck angled oddly. The kid was obviously dead. God, they'd just watched Alex being killed. Just watched a sixteen year old fucking kid be murdered. Like snapping a twig. Like breaking a nail. Like one flick of the wrist hadn't just taken someone's life and squashed it out of existence. Keith and Lyle laughed, both giving Sam and Dean one more look as they opened the freezer, stepped in, and closed the door behind them. 

Sam took a moment to remember how to breathe before he turned and looked at his brother, who sat wide eyed watching the freezer door. Dean's face was pale, from blood loss, shock, or horror, Sam couldn't tell. Sweat beaded his skin and dark circles were forming under his eyes. They needed to get out of here. Sam came around and started working on the chain holding his brother to the assembly line.

"Sammy?" Dean's voice was quiet, shocked. 

"I'm sorry," Sam answered automatically.

Dean licked his lips and set his jaw. "I'm going to kill these guys," he whispered so quietly that Sam had to lean down to hear it. He continued working on the chain, trying to free his brother, trying to get them both away from this slaughter house, away from those lunatics, away from the dead kid who Sam had just met but Dean had probably promised to save. God, Alex...

"I know."


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Notes: **Sorry it took so long to update! I was in Vegas, losing all my money, lol. And when I got back, I had a fever of 101.5 and then wouldn't let me upload chapters...so that's the long story short. This chapter has some pretty graphic gore, so I apologize ahead of time. But enjoy, nonetheless:-D

Chapter Six

"Ready?" Sam asked, squaring himself with his brother who was gritting his teeth and staring wide eyed at him. Dean's face had grown paler and there was a sheen line a sweat layering his skin. His eyes looked sunken and there was blood smeared onto his cheeks and forehead from the wound on his shoulder. Sam had one hand pressed to the wound, fingers wrapped around the meat hook that was still embedded there. The other hand held onto the chain linked from the hook to the machine behind them. The chain was tense and it was going to hurt to unlatch it from the hook, but they both knew it had to be done. "On three, okay?" Sam asked, watching as Dean's wide eyes roamed his face, almost absently. Dean had lost a lot of blood, Sam didn't know how much longer Dean would last.

"Yeah, yeah," Dean muttered, resting his head back against the machine. "Just hurry up. We need to get the hell out of here."

Sam couldn't have agreed more. He nodded and got a firmer grip on the chain before looking back at Dean's closed eyes. "Okay," he announced. "One. Two. Three." And he pulled quickly, the chain breaking from the hook and falling with a clatter as Sam reached both hands out to steady Dean's shoulders as his brother bucked and cried out. But Dean sat back and kept his eyes closed, struggling to get his body under control again, struggling to keep the pain from his face, struggling to keep the tears behind closed eyes. Sam just waited, his hands squeezing Dean's shoulder while the other was holding a piece of his shirt to the wound, which had started to bleed again. "Jesus," he whispered under his breath as he watched Dean's teeth start to chatter.

"Ow," Dean muttered after a few minutes of just sitting and collecting himself. He opened his eyes and gave a half smile, which Sam returned in full. Sam patted Dean's good shoulder and finally found enough courage to look away from his brother and towards the door he'd been brought in through. Dean was right, they needed to get out of here. His brother was in no condition to fight, hell, Sam wasn't even sure he'd be able to walk. And those guys were on some sort of demon steroids that made them near invincible. They wouldn't get anyway trying to fight their way out of this. They needed to run, get Dean to a hospital, and come back later when they were more prepared, preferably with an arsenal of automatic machine guns and hand grenades. That would take those bitches down.

"You okay?" Sam whispered, still holding the cloth to Dean's wound.

Dean choked out a mock chuckle. "I told him you asked stupid questions," he muttered before lowering his eyes and looking at a spot on the floor.

Sam frowned. "Told who?"

"Alex," Dean answered automatically, eyes still distant. Sam took in a breath and chewed on his lip. Dammit. "He asked the same thing. Course I lied to him, didn't want to scare the kid. Thought I could get him out of here." Sam shook his head and started to say something, but Dean kept talking. "He shouldn't have died, Sammy."

"Dean, there was nothing we could have done," he said calmly, trying to get his brother to look at him. When he wouldn't, Sam leaned down and tilted his head so he could see Dean's eyes. "We can't save everyone."

"We should have been able to save him," Dean whispered back and Sam wasn't sure if he was supposed to hear that or not. "Didn't even get a chance to finish his documentary on Henry Ford. Kid probably would have loved cars."

"Dean," Sam said and finally his brother looked up at him. "I'm sorry," he said and Dean's face fell for a minute before he regathered himself. "But we'll get out of here and then we'll stop these bastards from killing again, okay? We'll make sure no one else has to die like this."

Dean nodded and looked away, seemed to accept the answer for now and Sam just stared at him for a little bit. His brother was shaken, more than usual. There weren't many times when Dean was put into a situation he couldn't handle. Where he couldn't keep up his macho attitude or spew out jokes to cover how scared her really was. But this was one of those times where his brother wasn't even joking. He wasn't swatting Sam's hands away or trying to hide the hurt in his voice and on his face. It was one of those times when Sam could see Dean, truly see him, and Sam didn't like it. He didn't like that he could see the failure written all over his brother, that he could see the the self deprication clearly on Dean's face, that he could probably hear his brother listening to John Winchester's Marine voice yelling at him that he'd failed in his mission, that he'd been unsuccessful as a soldier, that he couldn't be proud of a son who had just sat there and watched as a sixteen year old fucking kid had just been murdered in front of his eyes. Sam could almost hear the scolding, the reprimand, the utter dissapointment in his father's voice.

"Makes you think twice about eating a burger, huh?" Dean's voice broke into the silence and Sam realize Dean was looking up at him, that disappointing look in his eyes now masked by the look he always got when he slipped into the role of big brother. Sam smiled and shook his head, trying not to show how relieved he was that Dean was joking, was protecting, was being Dean, even if it was only an act for now.

"Like that'll stop you," Sam said, checking on the wound again, peeling back the cloth to see if it was still bleeding. It had slowed a bit, but still looked nasty. "Burgers and leather are your life." Dean chuckled at the joke and Sam felt relief slip through him.

"Fucking cold..."

Sam looked back at Dean, a spike of panic tearing through his body at Dean's muttered words. His brother's eyes were drooping and he had started to shake. Adrenaline was probably running out. Dean was giving in to his wounds. Sam seemed to notice for the first time that Dean was still in only his boxer briefs and a t-shirt. He quickly took off his light jacket and put it around Dean's shoulders, careful not to jostle the hook still stuck there. "Well serves you right for running around in your underwear," Sam scolded playfully, watching as a grin stole its way onto Dean's face. Then Sam reached into one of the pockets on his jacket. "Oh, here," he said, pulling out the pendant he'd found in the Marxs' farm house. "I think this is yours."

Dean eyed it for a moment. "Oh, fuckers..." he grunted and let Sam put it around his neck. Sam licked his lips and stared at Dean for a moment, feeling better that his brother had his pendant back, but also worried that Dean's vocabulary was downsizing to just swear words, something that only happened when he was angry or injured to a point where saying anything else would just take too much effort.

"Okay," Sam said, pulling the jacket in tighter around his brother and then slipping an arm under Dean's good one. "Come on, it's time to go."

"And how are we going to do that, Wonder Boy?" Dean mumbled as Sam lifted him to his feet.

"I'm not sure yet," Sam answered, looking around. There wasn't much to work with. The whole hook thing hadn't really worked out before so Sam was reluctant to try it again. As much as he loved Dean, he didn't really want to follow in his footsteps _that_ much.

There were some industrial sized meat grinders towards the back, but without electricity, they were pretty much useless. Then Sam spotted a few vats near the opposite side of the room. They were a little bit bigger than bathtubs, but there were metal lids on top. Sam started maneuvering them towards the vats. The closer he got, the better view he had of them. On the lids, there was a small glass window, the size of a brick, with a thermometer beneath it. "You up for a rematch?" Sam asked as he lowered Dean to the ground again, his eyes not leaving the vats.

Dean groaned as Sam went to the vats and ran his hands over them, looking for a latch of some sort. "Sammy, these guys are hopped up on something strong. I busted that guys ankle and he didn't even flinch."

"I know," Sam said, distractedly. His fingers suddenly caught on a latch on the vat and he wrapped them around it, tugging as hard as he could. It stuck for a little bit, caught in some goo that Sam wasn't willing to try and identify, before the lid suddenly decompressed and opened. But the stench that filtered out had Sam dropped the lid and turning away quickly, hands coming to cover his nose and mouth. He took a few deep breaths, trying to get the smell out of his nostrils. It was like a bathtub of rotten flesh. Sam's hands were shaking the smell was so bad. He breathed in through his mouth, trying to ignore the way he could almost taste the smell.

"Okay," Dean whispered shakily and Sam's eyes shot to him. If it was possible, Dean had grown paler. "I'm gonna be sick," he announced and immediately turned and retched onto the ground. Dean's hand came up to hold onto the hook in his shoulder, while the other braced himself on the ground, his body revolting to the horrid stench that still lingered in the air. Sam gave him a few minutes, half because Dean needed them and half because Sam was fighting back his own urges to vomit. Finally, Dean sat up and leaned against the wall, a grimace plastered onto his face that he couldn't seem to make go away. "That's just gross," he whispered, a fist to his mouth.

Sam nodded his agreement before looking around. Yeah, really gross. But he could use it. This could work. He looked back at Dean. "I have a plan."

Keith and Lyle emerged from the freezer not too shortly after they'd gone in. Keith was blowing into his hands and Lyle was yawning and strethcing, the front of his shirt covered in wet blood that had just begun to dry. It still clung to him in that sick sort of way only blood does. But the two looked more bored than anything else. And Keith scratched his gut while looking around. His eyes landed on Dean, who was sitting in a different position from where they'd left him. He looked down for the count. His head lolling to the side heavily, but his eyes staring at them glossily. Keith smiled.

"Hey, the kid skinned up pretty good," Keith said. "He'd make a nice lampshade."

"Fuck you," Dean spat at him, though a shiver racked his body, taking away some of the angering effect he'd tried to put into the insult. Keith and Lyle just laughed before they made their way towards Dean.

"Where's that other fella?" Lyle asked, looking around. "Planning another sneak attack?" Lyle posed in a sloppy fighting position before bursting out in laughter. "Cause that one worked out really last time. You want another hook in your shoulder? I could give you one on the other side, make it look pretty."

"You know I'm going to kill both of you," Dean said confidentally, rolling his head back so he could look up at Lyle, who had made it over to him and was now standing over him. "And I'm going to enjoy every fucking minute of it?"

Keith laughed as he came to stand by Dean's outstretched legs. He crossed his arms over his chest, grinning down at him. "Oh really?" he asked, then squatted down and patted one of Dean's legs. "And how you plan on doing that? You gonna bleed on me?"

"No," Dean shook his head, his eyes drooping again, breath slowly wheezing out. But a smile crept onto his face and his eyes narrowed, almost devilishly. "I was thinking more like drowning you in a meat boiler."

Keith let out a laugh and looked up at Lyle, who returned it. But when they looked back at Dean and saw that he was still smiling, Keith's laughter died away and he leaned forward to point a finger at him. "I'm gonna have fun making you scream."

"Hope you have a nice bath," Dean whispered.

There was only a small yell from Lyle as warning before Keith found himself the target of a vicious roundhouse kick. It cracked his head to the side and he got to his feet out of instinct. He tried to turn and see his attacker, that other kid they'd caught snooping in their house no doubt, but another kick found its way to his face and before he knew what was happening, the back of his knees caught on the edge of a basin and he was falling backwards, his body submerging into a clumpy, watery substance. When his feet were pushed into the basin, he realized where he was and he let out a growl, ignoring the stale water that crept down his nose and throat, and pushed himself up with a roar. But the lid was slammed down on top of him before he could make it up above the water. He brought his hands up and pounded on the lid. Pounded on it until the bones in his fists cracked, and even then he continued to beat on it. He was screaming and howling and yelling and breathing in the water and rotten meat that had been inside of it. His body was shutting down, but his spirit still fought. And he could barely make out the fight that was going on outside through the splashing of the water and the fogging of the glass window. Damn those city fuckers.

Sam had listened to Dean bait them. He'd listened with growing hatred as they talked about Alex, made fun of his brother, and threatened him. Sam had never killed another man before, but he was about to. He knew Dean would kill them in a heartbeat. There may be a little bit of guilt, deep down, but Dean wouldn't hesitate, not after what they'd done. And Sam was working harder and harder on ignoring his conscious, screaming at him that his morals clearly stated not to kill another human being. Ever. Hell, he'd felt slightly guilty about Meg, and he _knew_ that bitch deserved to die. These guys? They deserved it too. He'd watched them kill Alex. They'd taken his brother for god's sakes and then shoved a hook into his shoulder. His Dad probably wouldn't even be having this conversation with himself right now. John Winchester would probably already know that he was going to kill them, he probably would have known the moment he found Dean missing from his bed. He'd probably tell Sam to suck it up, to realize that there was no other choice. It was us or them. Like always.

So when Sam jumped from his hiding spot and attacked without giving Keith a chance to realize what was happening, he acted on impulse. The thing about this job, the thing that Sam never fully grasped, never fully accepted and still didn't, was that there were times when you had to do things you weren't willing to do. They'd all done it, without question. All except for Sam. He'd always fought, he'd always argued, he'd always try to find another way. John had done this every time he'd made his sons move, every time he'd used them as bait, every time he'd left them, without an explanation, every time he'd ignore their phone calls, their pleas for him to call and at least tell them he was all right. John had never wanted to isolate his sons. But he'd done so, because in this job, you do things you don't want to. Dean had done this whenever he'd listened to his father without question, when he'd dropped Sam off at the bus station with a "goodbye" and "good luck" and nothing more, when he'd pretended he didn't have a little brother for all those years, when he'd told his father that he couldn't with. Dean had never wanted to break up his family. But he'd done so, because in this job, you do things you don't want to.

And Sam. Everything he'd done, was something he didn't want to, but it wasn't the same. It wasn't the selfless acts like his father and brother. It wasn't like that. Sam was selfish. Dean was right. What had he ever done, what had he ever sacrificed for his family? He'd spent his whole life wanting to get out. But maybe this wasn't for the job. Maybe he wasn't about to do this because the hunt asked him to. This was a different job. This was being a Winchester, not a hunter. This was one brother looking out for the other. This was Sam making sure that these guys wouldn't get a chance to hear his brother's screams, to see his tears, to feel his blood. And that was a job Sam would never back down from.

Sam had never wanted to kill another man. But he'd do so, because in this job, you do things you don't want to.

So Sam closed the lid on the water boiler without hesitation. He listened to the screams and the pounding on the lid and ignored them as he turned and faced Lyle head on. But Sam hadn't acted quick enough. He'd thought he'd been ready, thought that with one down, he could take on the other, one on one. But Lyle was pissed and Sam was winded and when Lyle landed the first punch, Sam went down hard, hearing and feeling the crack of his nose breaking as he fell to the ground and Lyle jumped on top of him, rainging punches down around Sam's arms as he tried to cover his head.

It was happening so fast. Sam wondered how he was supposed to fight someone in hand to hand combat who had a demon backing them up. This guy was fast and his punches were strong and Sam knew that beside the broken nose, he would have two broken arms he didn't get this guy off of him soon. But he couldn't find any break in the punches, they just kept coming, not allowing him to find time to move his arms and try to catch Lyle's wrists or do anything but try to keep those fists away from his face. Jesus, how was he going to get out of this one?

But just as quickly as they had been coming, the punches suddenly stopped. It took Sam a moment to realize that he wasn't being hit anymore. His arms were pounding with bruises and abraisions and it was hard to distinguish between a punch and a heartbeat for a moment. But when he finally figured out that he wasn't being attacked anymore, he moved his arms away from his face and eyed the situation. He felt the blood drain from his face as he realized why Lyle wasn't hitting him anymore.

Lyle was standing up straight. His hands down at his sides. An upset frown on his face. Behind him, Dean was standing, shakily, wobbling on his feet. Dean was staring at Sam with wide, glossy eyes, pain etched across his features. Dean's shoulder was a mess. Blood was pouring anew from the wound. Skin had been ripped and bunched and torn and a sliver of bone stuck out from beneath the flesh. The hook that had once been embedded in his brother's shoulder had found its way into Lyle's left eye. It stuck in deep and covered half of Lyle's face with blood and puss and eye juice. Lyle's lips moved but no sound came out. The man fell to the floor, the hook clanging on the ground as it sunk in deeper. Sam looked at him for a second before jerking his head back to his brother. Dean was unsteady on his feet. His hand fluttering over the wound on his shoulder. His face scared, pale, clamy. Sam had to scramble forward quickly to catch him as Dean's strength finally failed and he fell to his knees.

Dean had never wanted to pull a meat hook from his shoulder and snap his collar bone to save his younger brother from a madman backed by a demon. But he'd done so, because in this job, you do things you don't want to.

But Dean had never wanted to do anything more.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

"You still with me?" Sam called and paused in his search through Lyle's pockets to look over his shoulder at his brother. The man's skin was already growing cold, his heart long since stopped beating. Dean sat propped against one of the assembly lines, part of Sam's shirt and his jacket holding his left arm immobilized and doing a slightly decent job of pretending to be a bandage for the gaping, bleeding wound on Dean's shoulder. He studied him for a minute, watching the slight rise and fall of his chest, the uncontrolable twitch in his fingers when small spikes of pain tore through his left side. Dean was a mess. But he was conscious and breathing.

"No, I'm half way to Burger King."

And smart mouthing.

Sam snorted and went back to searching Lyle's pockets. He was hoping for keys or something that could help them. Anything. "You wish," Sam said playfully, trying to keep his brother talking. Every once in a while, he caught Dean's sharp intakes of breath and his slow exhales. He was fighting the pain, but Sam knew it had to be agony. Broken collarbones weren't pleasant. He'd never personally had one, but he remembered the last time Dean broke his. They'd been a lot younger and Dean had been a lot less worried about hiding his pain from his family. He could still hear his brother's deep sobs all these years later. Their Dad had even been upset by the whole thing. It was probably the first, and the last, time either of them had seen Dean so out of control of his emotions. They'd waited for nearly an hour in the waiting room, since Dean hadn't been bleedng too severely, and that hour had been the longest of Sam's life. Compared to now, Dean was a fucking monk.

"Gonna get me a happy meal," Dean muttered, a long sigh following.

"That's McDonald's, man," Sam said absently, his hands running over one of Lyle's shirt pockets. His heart leapt as he felt the lump there. He'd been hoping Lyle had been the one carrying the keys and not Keith. Sam wasn't really keen on opening up the meat boiler he'd trapped Keith in minutes ago. When he pulled a key ring from Lyle's pocket, Sam's face lit up. "I got the keys," he announced and turned around to show them to Dean. But Dean wasn't paying attention. His head had fallen forward, chin resting on his chest. His eyes were drooping slowly. Sam closed his fist around the keys and scurried across the space separating him from his brother. "Hey, Dean," he said loudly, watching as his brother jerked and lifted his head a fraction. "Hey, come on, stay awake," he said, reaching Dean and pulling his head up the rest of the way.

"Get off me," Dean slurred, lifting a hand to swat Sam away, but his movements were weak.

Sam shook his head, seeing Dean's dazed eyes. "No, hey," Sam said, tapping Dean's face a little. "Dean, you have to stay awake. We're gettng out of here." He looked at the shirt that was acting as a bandage for Dean's shoulder. The blood was starting to soak through. Sam cursed. He'd hoped the bleeding would stop, or at least slow. But it was still going heavy. Pulling a meat hook from your shoudler would do that. Sam still couldn't believe his brother had done that. But Sam would praise, and lecture, him later. Right now, he just had to make sure Dean stuck around that long. "Dean," he said again, firmly.

"Yeah, yeah," Dean grumbled, closing his eyes for a moment. "Give a guy a minute."

Sam grunted as he wrapped an arm around his brother and hefted him to his feet, using his good shoulder and arm to help leverage him up. "We don't have a minute," he said when they were both standing. Well, more or less standing. Dean was leaning heavily on him and Sam was sure that if he didn't have a death grip on his brother, Dean would be back on the floor in a matter of seconds. He manuevered Dean so he had a good grip on him before looking towards the door. God, it looked like a million and one miles to the door. How far would they have to walk before they got to someone who could help them? Sam pushed away the thoughts that threatened to bring down his spirit. The thoughts that screamed and jeered at him, telling him his brother would never make it. Of course Dean would make it. Dean always makes it.

"Sammy?" Dean's voice was little, weak, shaky. He turned to look at his brother and saw Dean's face unusually intense. Then he figured out why. "'Mm...be sick," he choked, swallowing hard.

"Whoa, okay," Sam said and flurredly held his brother so he was facing away, bent at the waist. On cue, Dean started to heave. Deep, sick bouts that shook his entire body. Sam had a little trouble holding him, his brother's body having gone completely slack with the effort it took to expel whatever had been in his stomach. But after a little bit, Dean finished and just hung in Sam's arms, breathing. Sam bent over a bit to get a look at his face, which was pale and covered in sweat. Small beads of it dripped from various spots. "You good now?" Dean just nodded, slowly, maticulously. "Okay," Sam said and brought his brother slowly back to a full standing position, Dean's good arm wrapped around Sam's shoulder. "All right, come on," he said, watching as Dean tried his hardest to walk with him, to do what his little brother asked. God, his brother would face the devil if Sam asked. He probably already had. "That's it, Dean," Sam encouraged, seeing his brother's face scrunch in pain. "Almost there."

Dean coughed, wet and sick. "Not helping," he rasped. Sam sighed, knowing his brother didn't want to seem like he needed the encouragement, but in truth, he probably did to keep from falling asleep on his feet.

It was slow going from the back of the room to the door, but when they finally made it, Sam shouldered his brother even more, trying to balance him with one hand while he fumbled with the keys in the other. The lock wasn't exactly a normal lock. It was a heavy duty one, that probably couldn't have been picked. It took three keys to open it. And when the door finally clicked and Sam kicked it open, the light from the outside was so intense that Sam had to shield his eyes. He heard Dean groan and even though it was meant to be a protest to the sudden light, it spurred Sam into dragging his brother outside.

The air was cool and the sun was lower, which meant it was probably late afternoon. They had a good couple of hours before the sun would set. Damn, Dean had been in that slaughterhouse all day, bleeding for who knows how long. Sam pulled his brother closer at the thought. He could feel Dean shivering and realized that it was breezy and chilly out and Dean was still only in his boxer briefs and a t-shirt that was soaked with blood. Sam had used his jacket as a sling, so he couldn't put that on him. He had no way to keep Dean warm. Dammit.

"Which way?" Dean mumbled, making Sam jump slightly. He hadn't thought Dean was coherent enough to still be able to ask Sam if he knew what he was doing. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.

"I'm not sure," Sam answered. "They made sure I was disoriented when they brought me in," he told him. "But we must be close to the highway, I heard it on the way in. A couple miles, maybe, but we should be able to find a gas station or something before then."

"Well," Dean gasped as a spark of pain flared inside him. Sam waited for it to pass, wanting to know, needing to know what Dean's suggestion was. He wasn't used to being the one trying to get them out of there. Even if Dean was bleeding to death, he still had the engrained need to know what his big brother thought was the best plan of action. He didn't exactly get what he wanted. "Use your sixth sense and lead the way."

Sam sighed. "How many times do I have to tell you?" he said playfully, but half serious. "It doesn't work like that."

"Whatever," Dean said and looked around, though his eyes were half closed. "Man, when do I get my super power? Yours is lame."

Sam snorted and shook his head, looking around at the outside of the building again. He kept talking to Dean, even though he was taking in the surroundings and trying to decide on a direction to go. "Oh yeah? Well what powers would you want? Super human strength? Or maybe you want to sprout wings?"

"Nah," Dean said, taking in a deep breath. Sam glanced at him to make sure he wasn't about to puke again. But he was just shifting his stance, his legs and back getting sore. "X-ray vision."

"Of course," Sam chuckled then nodded, finally spotting the truck tucked away behind some trees in the short distance. He scanned the ground and found tire tracks. Perfect. Just follow the tracks, get to the road, flag down a car, get to a hospital and they were home safe. Except that Dean would probably need a blood transfusion, Sam needed his nose reset, they had two dead locals to explain, a dead teenager to remember, and there was the little matter of the demon behind all of this that was still there. So once all of that was taken care of, then they'd be home safe, back in the Impala, looking for more fun things to get themselves involved in. More fun things to keep themselves busy with while they wondered where John was, how he was doing, if he'd found the demon bastard who killed their Mom and Jess, or even if John had made it out of Chicago. They hadn't heard from him since. He could be prisoner, or dead, somewhere and they would never know. But those were matters for later. First things first. Find a road.

Sam hefted his brother up a bit and they took it slow from there. One foot in front of the other, that's the way to go. Sam made sure not to jostle his brother too badly, but they had to get going quickly. The demon could move, Sam knew that. It had taken Dean out from right under his nose, so it sure had to be fast and hard to track. Didn't even leave sulfur residue behind. Sam had no doubt that he wouldn't be able to hear it sneaking up on them and he really didn't want to try and fight it. Dean wouldn't be able to fight and Sam, though he didn't want to admit it, was losing his strength as well. He had enough to keep going. As long as Dean was hurt he had enough, but there was no way he could fight a demon.

Reaching down, he grabbed onto the remainder of his shirt and wiped at the blood on his face, not liking the uncomfortable stickiness there. He felt his nose while he was at it. It was sore to the touch and swelling. He could almost feel the bruises expanding beneath both of his eyes, but fortunately his eyes weren't swelling. There had been one time he'd broken his nose and both of his eyes had been black and blue and swollen nearly shut for almost two days.

They'd made it only a couple of minutes before Dean's knees sudden went out and he fell. Sam hadn't been expecting it and Dean tugged them both down. Sam caught himself and just barely caught Dean. He cursed as his brother's head lolled, falling backwards, eyes closed. "Shit," he hissed. "No, Dean, come on," he said, holding his brother closely and tapping his cheek again. "Hey, hey," he tried when that got him no where.

Dean groaned. His eyes fluttered. "Sammy?"

"Yeah," Sam answered, watching Dean's eyes focus and unfocus. "Stay awake. I've got you. Let's find something to talk about, huh?" Dean nodded, but it ended with his head falling forward, resting on Sam's shoulder. Sam pushed his brother up, getting them both back to their feet. Dean seemed twice as heavy. "Come on, tell me why I heard you singing Fiona Apple in the shower the other day."

"What?" He shocked. Dean's voice was stronger now. His eyes focused a bit.

Sam grinned. "Thought that'd get your attention," he said, dragging his brother until Dean's feet got the rhythm of walking again. "But seriously, keep talking. You need to stay awake." Dean nodded but didn't say anything. Sam watched their feet, making sure Dean picked his up high enough to not trip. "Okay, we need something good to talk about. Something that'll keep you interested. How about Dad?"

"No," Dean said semi-sternly. Sam sighed. Okay, that was a bust. What else could they talk about? But Dean chose the topic for him. "Really wanna go back to Stanford?"

Sam swallowed. He really didn't want to talk about this, but if it would keep Dean talking, then he'd suck it up. He licked his lips and looked forward, spotting the truck's tracks to make sure they were still going the right way before he started talking. "Yeah, I do," he said simply.

"Why?" Dean asked. Sam was surprised with the tone Dean used. He wished he could have attributed it to blood loss, but he knew not to kid himself. It was a fact that Dean didn't want Sam to go back to school when this was all over. He wanted them to stick together, be a family, like they used to be. Dean had made that much clear back in Chicago, before they'd found Dad. And Sam had told him them what he thought of that idea. He'd tell him again, as many times as it took to get Dean to know that they couldn't be together forever. And that not being together wasn't a bad thing.

"Dean," Sam started. "I have to. That's the life I want. I do good there. I have friends and opportunities. That's what I want."

Dean tripped a little and Sam caught him, hissing when he felt Dean wince as his collarbone was jarred. But neither of them acknowledged the pain anymore than that. "How do you know your friends will still be there? How do you know there'll still be the opportunities you want?" Dean slurred the word 'opportunities' and Sam was sure that it hadn't been an accident.

"I don't know," Sam said. "But if they're not, there will always be new ones." He paused and sighed, picking up the pace a little. "Dean, we can't hunt forever. We have to stop sometime. When we kill the thing that killed Mom and Jess, I'm gonna be ready to start a new life. To start a normal life. You gotta be ready too, Dean. When this is over..."

"It'll never be over, Sam," Dean broke in and Sam stopped his sentence short. He looked at his brother, but Dean's eyes were drooped, looking away. "There will always be things to hunt."

"That doesn't mean you have to hunt them," Sam insisted. "There's gotta be something else out there that you want, Dean."

Dean was quiet. Sam watched the side of his face for a moment, making sure that he hadn't lost consciousness again. But Dean was still moving, still staring, still breathing. His face looked pained, but Sam wasn't sure if it was all pain from his broken collarbone. Sam had seen the way Dean had looked at him back in Chicago when they'd had a similar conversation. He'd seen the way Dean struggled with himself, opened himself up and told Sam exactly what he'd always known but never acknowledged. He was sure he was about to hear it again. And he didn't have a clue what to do about it.

"I want my family," Dean whispered. "I want you, Sammy. I want things to be the way they were."

Sam sighed knowingly. "I know," he whispered. "But things change, Dean. People change. We're still a family even if we aren't together. You're my brother, nothing's going to change that. But I want to start my own family. I want my own life. You're a part of it, and yeah, it won't ever be the same, but that's not a bad thing. We'll always be a family."

More silence for a bit. Dean was huffing, his energy reaching its end, Sam could tell by the way his feet were dragging more than walking. But Dean managed to smile and Sam waited with hope in his eyes for what Dean had to say. "Whatever, Dr. Phil," he muttered. Sam laughed softly but stopped when Dean's feet stopped moving altogether. He wrapped his arm tighter around his brother, watching his face go through a million different emotions. "I'm just tired."

"I know," Sam said. "You've lost a lot of blood..."

"No," Dean shook his head, which turned out to be a bad thing as the world spun and Sam had to help him to the ground. But Dean kept talking through it. "I'm tired. I'm tired of waiting for Dad to call. Of waiting for this demon to show his face. Of waiting for Sam to leave again." Sam frowned at that.

"What?" he asked, but Dean kept his eyes closed, his head shaking slightly, his whole body giving into the shivers and the tremors that wracked his body. "Dean? Hey, I'm not leaving," he tried, rubbing Dean's arm and trying to hold his head up and get Dean to look at him. But Dean's eyes didn't open and he continued to shake, his teeth chattering now. Shit.

"Of being scared..." Dean whispered and Sam stared hard at his brother's face. His brother was talking about more than just this whole slaughterhouse incident. He was rambling now, but it was probably the deepest, most truthful revelation Sam had ever had about his brother. Dean was scared? Scared. Not the kind of scared where you keep a knife under a pillow. But the kind of scared where you wake up and make sure your little brother is still sleeping in the bed next to you. The kind of scared where you pretend not to hear your little brother talk about college and leaving and wives and kids and lives without you in them 24/7.

Sam bit his lower lip and leaned in, resting his forehead against Dean. It confirmed his fear that Dean was out of it now when he didn't resist the motion. Sam closed his eyes for a moment. He'd have to carry him. That's all there was to it. No way was he going to leave his brother here and no way were they just going to sit here and wait to get caught again. Sam kept rubbing Dean's good arm, trying to get warmth back into him. Dean's breath was shaky, his skin cool and clammy. He was losing him. In more ways than one.

"You'll always be my brother, Dean," he whispered, eyes still closed. "No matter what." He gave the promise, knowing Dean probably wasn't listening, probably wouldn't remember Sam ever saying it, but that didn't matter. Sam would remember, Sam would know, Sam would make sure that promise held true. Because it was a promise he'd never forget, not again. Not like the two years he'd spent trying to forget he had family, forget he had Dean. Because the truth of the matter was, he'd always had Dean. Dean had always been there for him, even when they hadn't been together, even during those years he'd spent at Stanford. Sam would always be there for Dean, no matter what. Even if he had a wife and kids and a dog, if Dean needed him, he was there. They were brothers.

Now, he just had to get Dean out of here. Sam opened his eyes and stood up, taking a deep breath, looking down at his brother. He tried to think of a way to carry him. Over the shoulder would be easiest, but that would be hell on Dean's broken collarbone. He could try to carry him in his arms, but he'd probably only make it a short distance before his arms were jelly. He could try to stand Dean upright and drag him like he had been doing. That was probably his best bet.

And as Sam turned to follow the tire tracks with his eyes, he was met with something quite different.

Lyle stood behind him. Hook in his eye. Grin on his face. Fist clenched. Sam only had half a second to panic before Lyle swung that fist at Sam's head, striking him across the temple. Dark stars exploded behind Sam's eyes and he was unconscious before he even hit the ground.

His last thought was a calm realization: the last time he checked, Lyle hadn't had a heartbeat.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Cold.

It was so damn cold.

Things had slowed down. The world had collectively decided on a slower pace. Sam didn't like it. This was wrong. A slow waltz when it should have been a boogie. It should have been fast. And loud. With lights and sirens and intercoms and doctors barking out orders. It should have been hustle and bustle. It should have been Dean shouting and smart mouthing and flirting with pretty nurses. It shouldn't be soft and hushed. They didn't do soft and hushed. It was enough to prompt Sam into opening his eyes.

He didn't like what he saw.

Things were blurry at first. A gray landscape with columns in deep shades of red and pink and cream and tan. White around the edges with a frosty mist in the air. A few blinks and the images cleared enough for Sam to wish he wouldn't have tried to wake up. The columns of red and pink and cream and tan turned out to be the bodies Dean and Alex had talked about. Bodies missing skin, some in full and some only in parts. Bodies strung upside down, by the feet, muscles exposed. They were bled dry, cleaned and treated, ready for processing. White crystals hung around the edges. Freezer burn. That explained the cold. They were in the freezer.

With that thought, Sam came fully alert. His hands were tied above his head tightly at the wrists, hanging from a latch hook. He would have been able to get out of the latch if his feet hadn't been dangling a couple inches off the ground. He could almost swipe his toes along the floor, but it was just out of reach. He was still fully clothed, which he guessed was a plus. Better off than Dean. Dean. Sam's head whipped to the side and he gasped when he saw his brother. Dean was hanging in a similar fashion. Hands tied at the wrist, strung up above his head. Feet a good few inches off the ground. His shirt was in tatters and Sam could see the wound in his shoulder. The sling had been discarded and the bandage was soaked through. Dean was pale. His lips tinged slightly blue. But he was rasping and there was a grimace on his face. He was alive.

"Dean?" Sam whispered, wincing when he tried to move and only ended up swinging himself a bit and making his arms lace with pain. "Shit," he gasped. How long had they been hanging there? His arms felt like they were dead. "Dean," he tried a little bit louder. There was no response at all from his brother. Dean just kept on hanging there, grimace solid on his face, rasping shallow and short. Sam worried that his brother wasn't shivering. His body was shutting down.

Something metallic clanged behind them and Sam turned his head quickly, trying to look over his shoulder, past his arms hanging in his way. He caught a glimpse of movement, but beyond that, he couldn't really see much. The sounds came again, only this time Sam could recognize what they were. Someone was sharpening their knives. Clanging the two together. Sam's chest swelled with panic and he tried to turn himself around. He needed to see who was there. He didn't want to be taken unaware. But he couldn't get his body to turn without taking off the skin on his wrists.

A deep laugh. Sam froze. Footsteps made their way up behind him.

"Who are you?" Sam demanded sharply, not liking this silence anymore. He tried again to look over his shoulder. He could make out a dark blur out of the very corner of his eye making its way towards him, coming up straight behind him. Shit, shit, shit. His skin stung with the anticipation of feeling the touch of that sharp knife dig into his back. But it never came. The footsteps stopped and Sam tried again. "Hey, I'm talking to you."

Another laugh and Sam felt something touch his lower back. He couldn't help the gasp that escaped his throat. Fingers, widely spread ran across his lower back, coming around his side and feeling his stomach. Sam struggled against the touch. It was definitely a violation of his personal space. He was so kicking this guy's ass. But the fingers weren't meant to violate or be sensual. They were feeling. Testing. The way someone would test a slab of meat for tenderness, tautness, soft spots. It made bile rise up in the back of Sam's throat.

Then the fingers were gone and Sam watched as the black blob finally came out from behind him. He stared hard at the thing that had strung him and his brother up like meat racks. Sam hadn't been sure what he'd been expecting out of this demon, but this wasn't it. It had a man's physique. But its skin was black. Looked like it was charred, burnt. Symbols stuck out on his skin in scars. Its eyes were white. The purest white. They stuck out boldly from the blackened skin. It was smiling, the most evil smile Sam had ever seen. Its teeth were rotten, decayed, sharp and carnivorous. It had hair like a human's. Shaggy and white, like its eyes. It was like no other demon Sam had ever seen. It looked like something out of a comic book. Something some lonely guy had thought looked cool and drew up and made come to life. It didn't look real. But it definitely was.

And Sam could only stare at it, wide eyes, lips parted.

"Well!" Lyle's voice rung loud and protruding in the room. Sam jerked, having not known that the other man was even in the room. He watched as Lyle came in front of him, followed by Keith, which surprised him again. He'd thought both of the men were dead until Lyle had shown up in the woods. The hook was still embedded deeply in Lyle's eye. Blood ran down half his face, but he acted as if it weren't even there. Keith stood beside him, skin pale, blue. He looked like the walking dead and Sam wondered if maybe he was. "The little fella decided to wake up," Lyle sneered, his face scrunching and bringing another strem of blood and puss from his eye. Sam grimaced.

"Just in time," Keith said with a chuckle. It was garbled because as he spoke, water dribbled from the corners of his mouth and from his nose. He coughed and drops flew out. Brown, nasty water. Keith was walking around with a lungful of meat water.

"How are you still alive?" Sam asked, his voice more timid than he'd meant it to be. He wanted to keep them talking. Wanted to delay whatever was going to happen and give himself a chance to think of a way out of this mess. But he was already begining to see that his plans so far had all fallen through. There wasn't much more he could do. He'd have to get crafty if he wanted to get out of this one. Because they would get out of this one. They had to. Dying here was not an option for Sam, and definitely not for his brother either.

Lyle and Keith laughed. Sam ignored the new spurts of blood and water from each of them respectively. Keith reached to a chain around his neck. He withdrew an amulet and dangled it in front of Sam. "Magic," Keith teased. Sam's eyes widened, his thoughts going back to Sue Ann LeGrange. The cross she'd worn around her neck. The way she'd controlled the reaper. He knew that Lyle and Keith had been doing something similar when he'd seen their basement. But this confirmed it. That amulet, whatever it was, was controlling the demon, and was probably the reason both of them were still walking and talking when they should have been dead.

The demon drew Sam's attention as it started to clang its knives together again. Sam found the thing was watching him, its black tongue running over its lips. Sam tried not to visibly shutter, even though he was still shivering from the cold.

"Pretty thing, ain't he?" Lyle said. Sam looked back at him and growled when he saw Lyle standing in front of Dean, one hand holding Dean's chin, moving his head around. Dean didn't make a sign that he even knew what was going on. Sam didn't like Lyle's hands on Dean. Not when Dean couldn't do anything about it.

"Don't touch him!" he spat angrily.

Lyle turned to look at him, still gripping Dean's chin. He chuckled. "What?" he asked and let go. Dean's head fell forward and Sam watched his brother swing limply. "Like this?" Lyle asked and Sam let out an angry yell as he backhanded Dean harshly across the face. Lyle wrapped an arm around Dean's waist, keeping him from spinning in his bonds.

"I'll kill you," Sam hissed.

"Ha!" Lyle mocked and pointed to the hook in his eye. "Tried it once already. You can't kill us, boy!"

Sam could almost hear his father's voice in his head. Good Sammy, get them talking about it. Get them to give some information. Get what you can and use it against them. All right.

"So you have some demon as your pawn, big deal," he prodded.

The demon stepped forward, still sharpening its knives. Sam glanced at it, warning it with his eyes to stay where it was. He knew if the demon wouldn't really listen to him, but he didn't know what else to do. With his hands tied up here and his body weak and cold, he couldn't really defend himself. He had to work with what he had and if giving off looks was the only weapon he had, then so be it.

"Big deal?" Lyle asked and chuckled. "When we bound our pet there to this necklace, we became gods. We don't get sick, we don't have to eat or sleep or drink. We're invincible."

"You can still bleed," Sam spat.

"Bleeding's not the same as dying," Lyle answered with a yell. "It's a price we pay for having this thing take care of our problems."

"So, what," Sam asked, trying to keep them talking. "You get mad at your neighbor for borrowing your hammer and you make that thing go kidnap them and turn them into sirloin steaks?"

Lyle and Keith both chuckled and Lyle patted one of the skinless bodies hanging upside down near to them. "Have to keep your pets fed well."

"It won't last forever," Sam said. "Demons don't like being pets. That thing will turn on you the first chance it gets."

"Keith," Lyle said harshly and held out his hand. Keith took the amulet from around his neck and handed it to him. Lyle pointed a finger at Sam. "Not as long as we have this," he said and held it up. "And you know what the good part is? Our mothers taught us to share. So we can pass along these new gifts to anyone we want. You want to be a god?" Sam didn't answer, he just stared Lyle down, fury growing inside of him. These guys were sick. They were beyond sick. He'd take the Benders over these guys any day. With the Benders at least he could fight them fairly. But these guys. Damn, how was he supposed to get out of this one? "Or maybe we'll give that privelige to your brother."

Sam froze, eyes widening. "No," he said as Lyle laughed and held the amulet to Dean's forehead. "Get away from him!" Sam screamed, every inch of him wanting to break from the ropes around his wrists and jump on Lyle to get him away from Dean. "Get your hands off my brother!" Sam screamed again. But Lyle was beyond listening. He pressed the amulet into Dean's forehead, holding his head up with the other. Dean's face scrunched as Lyle started whispering. Sam felt panic spike through him again and again. No, no, no. Dean's mouth opened with a gasp of air. Sam watched him struggle slightly, gasps and moans escaping from between his lips. "Dean!" Sam yelled at the same time Lyle stepped backwards, bringing the amulet with him.

Dean's body jerked forward, his eyes flying open. He sucked in deep lungfuls of air, eyes wide and panicked as they darted around the room. Sam tried to catch them, tried to draw his brother's attention to him, to show him he wasn't alone, to try and give him any sort of comfort that his presense could give. When Dean's eyes finally fell on him, they stared at each other for a moment. Sam watched him closely. This wasn't good. Not good at all. Yeah Dean was awake and not crying out in pain, but it wasn't natural. Pain hurt for a reason. To tell your body that you were injured. If Dean couldn't feel pain, if he didn't pass out when he lost too much blood, that wasn't natural, that wasn't good. Shit.

"Sammy?" Dean asked as he closed his eyes tightly, trying to get his bearings on his body before he opened them again.

"Dean," Sam answered and watched his brother open his eyes again. They landed on the demon, still sharpening his knives and Sam watched fear, disgust and a million other emotions play across Dean's face. Every emotion except pain. "Are you okay?"

Dean frowned, eyes not leaving the demon. "I feel...fuzzy," he said. Lyle and Keith laughed as Lyle put the amulet around his neck. The chain got caught on the hook in his eye for a second before falling into place. "What did Dumb and Dumber do to me?" Sam didn't know what to say. That they turned him into a walking zombie? Because Dean wasn't dead, but he hadn't exactly been up to talking and cracking jokes either. Whatever demon steroid spell they'd been under, Dean was now under. He could walk around and act normal with a giant hole in his shoulder. Perfect. Dean's eyes moved to Lyle and Keith, took on a disgusted look, and then moved down to look at his own shoulder and the blood that covered a good portion of his side. "I hardly feel anything."

"Oh?" Lyle asked, drawing both boys' attention back to him. He stepped forward and put his hand to Dean's broken collarbone, shoving the protruding bone with his thumb. Dean let out a pained scream at the sudden flare of pain. Sam might have yelled with him, but he wasn't sure through the beating of his heart in his ears. "Felt that, didn't ya?"

"You bastard," Dean grit out.

Lyle laughed. "Gotta have my fun."

Dean spit at Lyle, his face drawn, disgusted. "Oh yeah? Well go find some sheep to fuck."

Lyle smiled, but it was a smile that clearly showed he was unamused. He suddenly backhanded Dean again across the face. Dean grunted as his head snapped to the side. He cried out a bit as it jarred his collarbone, but the pain went away quickly. Lyle motioned with his hand for Keith to leave. The bigger man nodded and sneered at both Sam and Dean before opening the freezer door and walking out. Lyle leaned in close to Dean. "He's going to take you apart, piece by piece. You'll feel everything. You won't pass out and you won't die. There's no sweet surrender for you."

"You're strangely poetic for a backwoods hick," Dean said calmly. Lyle snorted, patted the side of Dean's face, and then followed Keith out of the freezer, closing the door behind him, leaving Sam and Dean alone with the demon, who still stood near the wall, sharpening his knives, eyes never having left Sam. But only a few seconds after they left, the demon turned around and placed its knives down on a table next to the wall. It started to prepare something else that they couldn't see. "Sam," Dean said. "Mind filling me in on what's going on? Shouldn't I be in a nice bed being coddled by some pretty nurse somewhere?"

"It's that amulet," Sam answered, resting his head against his arm. God he was tired. "It's why Lyle and Keith aren't dead. There's some spell on it that keeps them alive. They put it on you too."

Dean thought for a second, his eyes drifting to the demon's back. The demon had started to hum. It sounded strangely human. Quite eerie. "So what, I'm invincible? Sweet."

"Until we destroy that amulet," Sam cut in. "It's what they're using to control this thing," he nodded his chin towards the demon. "And when we destroy it, you're gonna hurt, a lot."

"Oh," Dean whispered. "Not sweet."

"Definitely," Sam agreed.

Dean was quiet for a moment. He looked up at his wrists, bound above his head. Sam watched him glare at the rope as if his eyes alone would just burn them away. Then his brother glanced back at the demon, secretively, before he looked back at the rope. "Remind me later what a martyr I am."

"Dean..." Sam warned, his stomach doing flips as his brother rubbed his wrists back and forth, slipping slowly out of the ropes, but rubbing the skin off as he did so. Droplets of blood snaked their way down his arms and beside the grimace on his face, Dean wasn't showing any signs that it hurt or that it would slow him down.

The demon suddenly turned and Dean stopped trying to get loose. It glanced at both Dean and Sam before growling and bypassing them both. "The fuck is this thing?" Dean whispered as they both tried to look over their shoulders and watch to see where the demon was heading. They heard a door open. Sam watched as Dean struggled some more with the ropes holding his wrists. He wasn't sure what his brother would do once he was free, but it would be better than remaining tied up the whole time.

"No, let go!" Both Sam and Dean froze, their eyes widening and struggling to see behind them at the voice. The hell? It couldn't be. "Please..." the voice begged and there was the sound of a small scuffle. Then, Sam and Dean watched as the demon came back, dragging someone behind it. Someone whom they both thought was dead. Someone whose neck was bent at an odd angle, whose eyes were wide as he caught sight of them, whose mouth was open with instilled fear. Someone who made Sam realize just how strong the spell that was now on his brother was. It had brought someone back from the dead.

"Alex?" Dean choked out. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Notes: **Sorry for the wait! I went back to work at the newspaper and work is kicking my butt lately. Oh, and for whoever asked (sexybeast?) yes, I do read all of the reviews. I try to answer all of them too, but sometimes I forget. I do appreciate all the reviews I get!

Chapter Nine

"Let him go you sick bastard!" Dean's voice was furious. It reminded Sam of their father. The tone was completely John's. Completely a parent's. Yet it seemed so right on Dean. So right that it made Sam wish he'd never have to hear his brother's voice like that again. Never have to hear him put that much anger, that much hatred and threat into words. Because that level of intensity only ever reared its ugly head when someone Dean loved was being hurt. And Sam knew his brother felt no greater pain than when someone he loved got hurt.

The demon stopped and cocked its head at Dean. It kept a firm grip on Alex, who was still struggling, his cheeks red and eyes puffy. The kid was terrified. His wide eyes roamed the room, landing first on Sam, and then moving to Dean, who had taken on a calm demeanor. But his eyes glared fire in the demon's direction. Alex watched Dean. Watched him like a child watches a parent expecting them to make the boo-boos all better. The kid's eyes and whole persona screamed "save me." And Dean's fierce gaze whispered back gently, "I will." Sam wished they actually could. He wished Dean could actually tell Alex that he would save him, that he would make everything better, but the fact of the matter was that Sam didn't know if he could. He'd never doubted his brother. Dean always came through when it counted. He had an almost super hero reliability to him. Except that Dean wasn't a super hero. He was just a guy. Just Dean. And not even Dean could change the fact that Alex had been dead. Sam didn't know if it was possible for everything to be okay anymore.

The demon continued to stare at Dean for a few more minutes before its head tilted towards Sam, its cold eyes staring hard into the younger Winchester. Sam stared back defiantly. He didn't like the way the thing looked at him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Dean start his struggle with his bonds anew. So he held the creature's glare. He didn't know how smart this demon was. He didn't know what it would do once Dean had his hands free. So far, it seemed slow, but strong. It hadn't spoken, but the humming had seemed rather human-like. But how did something like this get caught by someone like Lyle and Keith? It couldn't have too much in that ugly head.

Alex was suddenly flung to the ground. He grunted as the side of his face his the cold concrete floor. But he hurriedly gathered himself and scrambled away from the demon, towards Dean. His eyes never left the monster who'd been holding him.

"Hey, you okay?" Dean asked, the concern raw in his voice. Alex just took in ragged breaths and nodded, but put a hand to his neck as he did so. "Help me out, here." Alex finally looked up and caught sight of Dean's raw, bleeding wrists. He stood, slowly, keeping his eyes on the demon, who had went back to its knives and preparation tools. Alex quickly reached up to the ropes and started untying them. Dean's face was a mask of anxiety and anger. There were pinpricks in his fingers, but other than that, he couldn't really feel the pain that he knew should have been there. The soreness in his arms lasted only a few seconds, when they normally would have left him gasping for breath. It wasn't natural. It scared the crap out of him.

Finally, Dean came loose from the ropes. He landed quietly on his feet, his arms falling down limply. He sagged a little at the wasit, but Alex reached out and held onto his good shoulder. It only took a moment for Dean to gather himself and stand up straight. "Boost Sam up so he can get out of that hook," Dean whispered, nodding his head towards his brother. Sam met Dean's eyes for a second and instantly knew what his brother had in mind. He was going to distract the thing while they got out. Dammit. "Has this thing said anything while you've been in here?"

"No," Alex said with a slight shake of his head. "I...I woke up in...in that room." Dean tore his eyes away from the demon to glance at Alex. The kid looked utterly traumatized. Of course he would. He's in all actuality dead. "I felt...weird. I don't think...I mean I can't feel..." Alex's hand came up and he rubbed at his chest. Sam winced, even as he was silently urging someone to come over and free him. They may not feel pain, but he sure as hell still did and his body was protesting something fierce. But he understood. As much as he possibly could. It must have been a whole new kind of fear to realize your heart wasn't beating, that you couldn't feel your own pulse, realized you didn't need to breathe. You just were. Your body was shut down, but you were still here. Sam couldn't begin to comprehend what it must be like, but he understood. He understood that Alex was figuring out what was going on.

"It's okay," Dean said gently, squeezing Alex's arm. "Help Sam and we'll get out of here." Alex took a few hesitant breaths before looking towards Sam, who tried to look reassuring but knew he failed miserably. "It's okay, Alex."

Dean waited until Alex reached Sam, his hands hovering hesitantly over Sam. "Just give me a boost," Sam whispered, nodding towards his feet. If he could push himself up a little, he could slip out of the hook and worry about the rope once he was back on solid ground. "Easy," Sam whispered as Alex took hold of his legs and started to lift him up. Pain lanced down Sam's arms, his fingers and forearms tingling.

Sam was so close to slipping off the hook, so close to letting his arms fall and claiming even the smallest of victories. But it never happened. The tension in his upper body never released, his breath was caught in his chest and he never had time to give out that sigh of relief. The demon must have known what was going on. It must have been paying attention, not as dumb, or at least not as unaware, as Sam had hoped. Because just as Sam was about to bring his arms down, about to be released, the demon turned, startling Alex into letting go of Sam. His arms tugged and he let out a gasp at the new pain in his shoulders.

"No you don't," Dean hissed and leapt forward. The demon's head snapped towards him but it just watched as Dean, with a quickness he shouldn't possess, snatched a knife from the counter and swiped it forward. The demon avoided it with a simple side step and a blank stare, but Dean wasn't done yet. Anger was fueling his movements now. Well, anger and an enchanted amulet. He moved expertly. The way they'd been trained. Warriors. Flipping the knife in his hand so he held the blade parallel to his wrist. He crouched, moved back on his heels. Stand. Prepare. Deliver.

A lunge forward. Cat-like in nature. With Dean's reflexes souped up. Soreness, injury, and plain old tiredness didn't even play a part. Dean's muscles were working at full capacity. He was quick. Smooth. Not human and for a moment Sam forgot that he shouldn't be awed by this sudden fluctuation in strength and agility. He shouldn't be watching with admiration and interest. He reminded himself to be afraid. Because this wouldn't last forever. And Dean may be quick and powerful now, but when that amulet was broken, Sam wasn't sure if Dean would even be able to stand up, let alone stay awake.

The blade sliced across the demon's arm and for a moment the room seemed to freeze, literally. Sam took solace in the fact that he could see Dean's breath form in the air, but ignored the way he couldn't see Alex's. The kid wasn't breathing. He shouldn't be standing there, watching, fearing.

Dean stared at the cut he'd sliced into the demon's flesh. Black blood dripped from it and onto the ground and Dean grinned, a wide eyed, malicious grin as he looked up at the creature. "You can bleed," he announced outloud. The demon growled and Sam wondered if maybe it did understand what they were saying. "I bet that amulet does more than jut keep you here. I bet it keeps you in tact too. So all I have to do is smash it and then I can kill your sorry ass."

"Alex," Sam grit out, catching the teenager's attention again. "Get me down."

"Ooh, I'm gonna love killing you," Dean sneered and lunged again. Only by now, Dean had managed to piss the demon off and it didn't just stand still and take the attack. Sam's initial thought that the demon was slow was quickly proven wrong as it wrapped it's thick fingers around Dean's neck, catching Dean's bloody wrist and completely using his momentum against him. He flung Dean towards Alex like he weighed nothing. The two collided with simultaneous grunts. The two tumbled to the ground. They hit Sam's legs, making him swing back and forth. He used the motion to try and swing up and out of the hook, but it didn't work. Dammit, if his arms weren't so tired, he could probably lift himself up out of it. But his arms felt like rubber. Dead.

"Son of a bitch," Dean grumbled from the ground as he untangled himself from Alex.

"Dean!" Sam only got out a short warning before the demon rushed his brother. He watched, horrified, as the demon grabbed Dean by the jaw, its short claws digging into Dean's cheeks, the thumb coming dangerously close to his jugular, and flung his brother clear across the room. Dean hit the wall with a sick crack. He fell to the ground and let out a groan, but started picking himself almost immediately. Sam couldn't see Dean's face, but he could see the blood dripping from his chin and eyebrow. Shit. "Dean," Sam said his brother's name like a mantra inside his head as he looked up at the ropes around his wrists. He grit his teeth, ignoring the pain that screamed inside his arms and chest. He gripped tightly to the hook and started to pull himself up. He needed to get on the ground. He needed to be able to help. Dean would fight this demon full on. He would ignore the fact that he can't feel pain and he would use that. He'd ignore the fact that whatever wounds he got now, he would eventually feel all at once when the amulet was smashed. Sam feared more and more for his brother's life.

The demon let out a nasty growl as it grabbed Alex around the neck again. Alex choked and grunted as it dragged him towards Dean. "Shit," Sam grit and continued to pull himself up. His arms were shaking so badly it was a near impossible task, but he was getting somewhere at least. Just a few more inches.

"Spoiled."

Sam's eyes widened as he turned to glare at the demon. Dean's head shot towards it and even Alex looked surprised that the creature had uttered a human word. It stopped in front of Dean, with Alex still held tightly.

"The hell?" Dean spat as he got to his feet and stood his ground.

"Spoiled," the demon muttered again and shook his head at the freezer door. It swung open forcibly making Dean jump slightly. "No good. Get out."

"My pleasure, shitface," Dean grumbled and his eyes went to Sam. Sam let himself fall back down, the breath of relief finally coming to him. It was letting them go? That didn't make sense, but he wasn't going to question it. What was that saying about gift horses? Dean half smiled at him and took a few steps to get around the demon. But the demon stepped to the side, blocking him. Sam felt his heart leap to his throat.

"No," it said and with inhuman ease, it toseed Alex out the freezer door. Alex grunted and rolled and then looked back at Dean with wide eyes. "You only."

"I don't think so, pal," Dean said, his voice lowering, his hands clenching into fists. "Sammy, can you get down?"

Sam reverently started to pull himself up again. "Give me a sec."

"Sam..." Dean warned and Sam looked at his brother. Dean was staring at the demon, his hands in front of him, shaking like he was trying to move them but they just wouldn't budge. Sam worked faster. Up, ignore the burn, just get off the hook, get to Dean, don't be left behind.

Everything happened all at once. Sam finally came loose from the hook, dropping to the floor where his legs gave way immediately and he fell to his knees. The blood rushing back into his limbs winded him for a moment, making the room tilt and sway and stars dance in front of his eyes. But he regained himself in time to see the demon backhand his brother, sending Dean flying with supernatural force out the freezer door. It only took half a second for Sam to watch the freezer door slam shut, separating them, leaving Sam alone in the freezer with the demon. It took less than that for Sam to realize he was in a world of trouble.

Dean hit the floor and skid, rolling to a stop next to the assembly line. He grunted as the pain flashed and then left. Shit that was going to hurt. But all thoughts of his own well being slipped away as he heard the sound of the freezer door shutting. His head snapped up and he just stared at the cold metal door. No. Sam.

"Sam!" Dean screamed, getting to his feet and running for the door. "No! Sammy!" There wasn't an answer. "No," Dean shook and grabbed the handle. He pulled and pulled and ignored it when he felt his broken collarbone jar and scrape and rub and crack more. He had to get to Sam. He had to get to his brother. This couldn't be happening. This wasn't happening again. No, no, no, no. Dean stopped only when he felt Alex's hand on his arm, trying to pull him away from the door. He turned to look at the teenager.

"That necklace," Alex said quietly, his eyes straying to the door. "We won't be able to do anything if it's...if that thing can't be hurt."

Dean seemed to think for a moment before he turned back to the door and yelled loudly out of anger, slamming his fists into the door. He knew the whole not feeling pain gig was going to come back and bite him in the ass later, but he didn't care. He was going to use it while he had it. He needed to find Lyle, kick the guy's ass, and fucking annihilate that amulet. "We can give Sam a fighting chance," Dean said quietly, more to himself than to Alex. But the kid answered anyway.

"The door's open," Alex said and Dean looked to see for himself. It was wide open and it was getting dark out. They'd been there almost an entire day. "Why'd it let us go? I don't understand."

"It said we were spoiled," Dean said, as if that would explain it. "Come on," he headed for the door, moving as quickly as he could without running flat out.

"Spoiled?" Alex asked. "What does that mean?"

And Dean couldn't stop himself. The part of his brain that usually censored hurtful comments was too worried about Sam to realize just how hurtful he was about to be. The words came out and the instant he uttered them, he froze and knew what he'd just done.

"Probably that it likes its meat fresh, not dead and dying."

Dean turned to look at Alex, pausing just outside the door to stare at the teenager, at the little boy that stood there eyes cast downward, chewing on a lip. Dean opened his mouth to say something, but he didn't know what to say to make it better. His mouth formed an apology, but he couldn't say it. He couldn't get it out. The realization of what he'd said hit him so hard he couldn't find words. Jesus, Alex was dead. He was dead. But he was here, standing there looking lost and helpless. Dean couldn't save him. Twice he couldn't save him. Twice he had failed this kid and now he had just rubbed it in his face. Brilliant.

"Alex, I'm sorry..."

"I'm dead." It wasn't a question. Dean swallowed and nodded. "I can feel it. I feel...quiet." Alex's eyes widened and he looked up at Dean. "When you break that necklace. I...I'm going to die...again, right?"

Dean wished he could say no. He wished he could tell the kid that they didn't have to destroy the amulet right away. He could let him go home and say goodbye to his family, to his friends, to his life. He could travel and see places he wanted to see. He could take his time. But they didn't have time. Sam didn't have time. Even now, that demon could be tearing his brother apart. But this kid. This teenager who had put his life in Dean's hands, who had trusted him blindly. He was dead and about to die for a second time and he knew about. He was aware of it. And he had to face that. He had to look it in the face and hold his ground and keep from screaming and falling apart.

Holding back a tear, Dean nodded. "Yeah, Alex," he whispered. "I think you will." Alex was quiet. He didn't look at Dean, he stared at the ground. Dean took a breath to keep his voice from shaking. It shook anyway. "If there was another way..."

"There's not," Alex whispered with a nod. He looked up. "You need to save your brother." Dean's face crumpled. "At least he's still alive."

"Won't be for long," Dean said and Alex squared his shoulders. "We need to find Lyle."

"I'll help," Alex said.

"I'm sorry," Dean said. "I wish...I wish there was something..."

"Me too."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Dean crouched low as he reached the truck, Alex doing the same. They were quiet for a minute, listening for any signs of Lyle of Keith. When nothing but the eeire quietness of the woods spoke back to them, Dean stood up and peered inside the window. The doors were locked. Dean didn't know whether that surprised him or not. He drew back his elbow and smashed it in, looking around again before he unlocked the door and pulled it open. Alex stood quietly beside him, watching the woods, watching for Lyle and Keith.

Fumbling through the messy contents of the truck, he finally pulled open the glovebox and gave a small war whoop of success. Alex turned to look at him and his eyes widened as Dean pulled Sam's knife out of the glovebox. "Family heirloom," Dean chided. "Needed it back." Dean did a quick search of the rest of the truck but didn't find anything useful. So he slammed to door shut and motioned for Alex to follow him. "Come on," he commanded.

They stalked quietly back towards the slaughterhouse. Lyle and Keith were around somewhere. Dean had a feeling they were hiding. They'd probably heard him screaming when the freezer door was closed, locking his brother inside. He wondered what sort of traps those two hicks could come up with and hoped that finding this knife wasn't one of them. But it was his own damn knife. Bittersweet, he supposed.

"Dean?" Alex's voice was quiet, choked up. Dean turned to look at him as they reached the building. He turned and squatted by it, his back shielded by the wall. Alex did the same, but kept his face turned towards Dean. "It really sucks, knowing you're gonna die, you know?" Dean's face softened.

"Yeah," Dean whispered. "Actually, I do know," he told him. Alex just frowned at him, his eyes glancing at the hole in Dean's shoulder and the bloodied, black and blue, swelling right side of his face. But Dean shook his head. "A few months ago, a doctor told me I had two weeks to live. Heart problems." No need to elaborate.

"Really?" Alex asked, looking surprised.

"Yeah," Dean said again.

Alex shifted his weight, eyes going out to scan the woods before asking, "What happened?"

"I was healed," Dean answered. "By a faith healer."

"Were you scared?"

Dean thought about his answer. Yes, he'd been scared. He'd been fucking terrified. Terrified of dying, of finding out what the afterlife had in store for him, of knowing what he knew about ghosts and spirits and wondering if he'd become the things he hunted. Terrified of closing his eyes to rest for fear that he'd never wake up again, never see Sam again. Terrified for Sam. Because though Dean had been scared for himself, scared of dying, he had been more scared of leaving Sam. Scared that he wouldn't be there when Sam needed him. He'd seen the way his brother looked at him when he laid in that hospital bed, or dozed in the passenger seat, or struggled to put on clothes and eat food and fucking take a piss. He'd seen Sam's eyes and the determination there. He'd been most terrified of failing his brother. Of letting something as meager as death defeat him. It was a terror Dean still felt whenever he thought about that week he'd counted his heartbeats, thanking God for every single fucking one of them.

"I was," he gave quietly. "I am."

Alex licked his lips, taking in that bit of information, processing it. Dean tried to think of something to say to make it better. He tried to think of a lie to tell him that could make him not be scared. But the truth was, Dean was proud of the kid. Proud that he hadn't pissed himself, hadn't gone into a corner and cried, hadn't just laid down and waited. Proud that he was still here, by Dean, willing to help even if it meant he was going to die. Not many people would do that.

"I've never even kissed a girl," Alex said with a nervous laugh. Dean watched his face for a second. The fear was still evident, but there was also a resolve that had fallen across Alex's face.

Dean shrugged. "Well, dude, I'd offer myself, but I don't think you swing that way." He paused. "Do you?"

"Are you trying to take advantage of me?" Alex asked, just the small twitch on the corner of his lips and the glint in his eyes telling Dean that the joke had worked. Dean just let out a quiet laugh and shook his head. Then Alex's face grew serious again. "Do you think it will hurt?"

Dean fought back the watery haze that had fallen on his eyes. He looked at Alex sincerely. "I don't know," he whispered, trying to be as gentle with it as possible.

Alex nodded. "Well even if it does, could you...I mean, because my Mom's gonna be real upset, could you just, tell her it didn't? Tell her that...I mean just..."

"I will," Dean cut in. "I will."

Alex smiled. "Well, at least I'll be in a lot better shape than you," he said and it took Dean a moment to realize that he was joking. Laugh or cry.

Dean grinned. "Yeah whatever, Dead Boy, come on," he gripped Alex's shoulder and gave it a squeeze as the kid grinned back at him. They started to make their way around the building.

"What are we gonna do when we find them?" Alex asked, keeping close to Dean, copying his stance. Dean looked back at him and couldn't help but smile. Brave kid. He would have made an awesome hunter. The thought made Dean want to scream at himself. Not everyone you come across is a potential hunter, he reprimanded himself. Alex is just a sixteen year old kid. He shouldn't even have to worry about crouching low enough to minimize yourself as a target. He should be worried about girls and cars and zits. Not the fact that he's dead and pretty soon, they're going to break the only thing keeping him "alive." Dammit. "I mean, no offense, but they kicked your ass last time."

"Yeah well they won't this time," Dean answered, squinting at something he thought he saw move in the woods.

"That really inspires confidence," Alex said.

Dean shushed him and pulled him down so they were squatted, leaning against the wall. Alex was quiet as Dean stared at the spot he thought had moved. They stayed that way for a few seconds before Dean shook his head. He was starting to get anxious. He had no clue what that thing was doing to his brother and this was taking too long. He needed to find Lyle and give Sam a chance to actually kill the demon. If Sam was still even alive, but Dean shook that thought out of his head and stood up with a sigh. He turned to tell Alex it was a false alarm when a gunshot rang through the woods and Dean suddenly found his leg swept out from under him. He was on the ground, wondering how he got there before he realized that he'd been shot. He hadn't even felt it. Shit.

"Dean!" Alex yelled and Dean felt the kid tug on his arm and drag him, with strength his lithe form shouldn't have possessed. Dean was caught off guard by the gunshot so he let Alex drag him around the corner before he sat himself up as Alex looked at his leg, pressing his hands to the now gaping wound just below Dean's knee. "God, you got shot," Alex exclaimed, his eyes wide.

"It's weird," Dean said, still dazed, wondering how that leg could belong to him. It looked horrible. A gaping wound that had missed his kneecap by an inch or so. In and out, leaving his calf in an ugly exploded mess. He should have been screaming in agony, but instead, there was a slight tingle and that was it. "I don't even feel it."

"Lyle shot you," Alex said and Dean finally looked up from the wound in his leg, realizing he needed to get his act together before Lye shot someplace deadly next time.

Leaning forward, Dean used Alex to stand up, since his leg didn't seem to want to help him. Once on his feet, his leg gave way at too much pressure, but Dean quickly compensated. He could do this. He turned to look at Alex. "Okay," he held the knife out to Alex. "I'm gonna try to draw him out."

"No," Alex shook his head and Dean was caught off guard by his afrontness. He cocked an eyebrow but Alex didn't let him protest. "No, you can still make it out of this. I'm gone. I'll draw him out."

"Alex..." Dean tilted his head, trying to express his pride at the moment. But nothing came out.

"It's okay," he said, patting Dean's arm. "Just, take care of yourself. You got people counting on you."

Dean didn't know what came over him. Alex's words hit a little too close. They were too similar to Roy LeGrange's. He had a purpose, so many people had told him, but he had yet to know what that purpose was. There were times when he'd thought he'd known, thought he'd found out. But in reality, he didn't. All he knew was that he was tired of people being deemed less worthy than him. First Layla, now Alex. Why them? Why him? Why was he still here and so many people weren't? There had to be a reason, there had to be an answer. These thoughts coursed through Dean's mind and for a moment he lost control of himself as he reached out and hugged Alex. It took him a second to realize what he'd done and when he drew back, he was surprised by the look on Alex's face, and by the response he got out of him.

"Thanks," Alex said brokenly. Dean nodded, like he'd meant to comfort Alex. Like the hug had been meant for Alex when really it was Dean drawing all the comfort from it. It was Dean who had needed it.

"Dude," he whispered. "I don't even hug my brother."

Alex smiled and with glistening eyes he whispered, "You should," before he patted Dean's arm one more time and ran out into the open. Dean took several deep breaths, not liking the way his lung had trouble dispelling them of their own will. He was at his limit, he knew it without even having to feel all the pain. When that amulet broke, Alex might not be the only one dying today. But the death toll sure as hell wouldn't be including Sam. So he'd do what he had to do. Because as long as Sam was alive, the world would go on.

A few gunshots rang out and Dean pushed all the troubling thoughts to the back of his mind. It was time to focus. He peeked around the corner and saw Alex duck into the woods, hiding behind a tree as pieces of bark and wood flew off from where the bullets hit it. He caught sight of Lyle, standing in plain view now, with the gun pointed at Alex. No fucking way was he going to let Lyle put a bullet in Alex. No way was he going to make Alex's mom come to the morgue and identify her son with half his face blown away. No, she'd see her son, cold and pale but peaceful. Alex was going to have an open casket and all the girls would swoon and cry and things would be good for him, even in death. He could give Alex that much.

Dean darted from behind the corner, running straight for Lyle. He was happy that his leg could keep him up, even if just barely. He'd made it about halfway before something collided with him, sending him toppling to the ground. He felt something heavy land on top of him, he could feel a rib or two give way in his side with a twig-like snap. He'd lost track of all his injuries, but he'd begun to think that it wouldn't matter anymore. The same resolve that had been on Alex's face was now starting to settle into Dean's. He wasn't making it out of this alive. But he'd go out fighting.

Rolling over, he caught sight of Keith on top of him, his pale, dead, dirty face blue and ugly as ever. Water leaked from his nose and mouth, dripping down onto Dean, and Keith's body felt entirely too mushy. Dean would have gagged if his reflexes had been working. Instead, he moved with the speed and quickness that he unnaturally possesed. Bringing the knife in his hand up, he sliced it across Keith's face. Keith let out a yell, more out of anger than pain, and backhanded Dean. Son of a bitch. Dean regained himself quickly, bringing the knife up into the soft spot on Keith's chin. Dean left it there for a moment, working quickly as he heard another series of gunshots being fired. He mentally counted them. There should only be a couple more bullets left.

Worming his way out from Keith's grasp, he got to his feet and turned to see Lyle pointed the gun at Alex, who now had a bullet wound in his shoulder. "No," Dean gasped, growling with rage. Lyle had the gun pointed at Alex's head and Alex looked fearful, wincing in anticipation. No. Fucking. Way. Dean, in a blind fury, spun so rapidly his vision blurred. He grabbed the hilt of the knife, withdrew it from Kyle's chin and kept spinning until he faced Lyle. The knife left his hand at the same time Keith tackled him again.

Dean heard Lyle cry out. He heard Keith swear at him and curse him and felt him pound down on his face and arms and shoulders with fists too strong. He heard a gunshot go off but didn't hear it hit flesh. Alex might have screamed Dean's name in all of the chaos, but Dean couldn't be sure. He heard Lyle call out Keith's name, more of a warning that a plea. The beating stopped and Dean blinked for a second. Staring up at Keith, wondering why the man's face looked so terrified.

It took Keith's sudden spasm, Lyle's suddenly muffled cry, Alex's body hitting the ground, and pain like Dean had never felt pain before, to make him realize that the knife he'd thrown had hit it's target: Lyle's good eye. And using Lyle's blindness against him, like Dean had hoped he would, Alex had run forward, grabbed the amulet, and smashed it.

Dean didn't feel Keith's body fall down on top of him. His own body was on fire. Yet so frigidly cold. He couldn't help the choked scream, muffled by injured lungs, broken ribs, and pain so heavy, so intense, that Dean could only manage to hold onto consciousness for a few seconds. He may have cried out Sam's name., or maybe John's, or both.

Then Dean sucked in a breath and when it didn't come back out, he closed his eyes and let the dizzying darkness quelch his nightmares.

Sam eyed the closed door. He was shivering and probably slightly hypothermic, but he could tell the moment Dean had stopped pounding on the doors and had run off to destroy the amulet. He could tell not only because he couldn't hear Dean yelling for him anymore, but also because Sam was starting to realize he could tell when his brother wasn't there anymore. When Dean had first gone missing, taken from his bed in their motel room, it had startled Sam into waking up. The abruptness of having his brother gone, Sam could sense it. An odd feeling, akin to deja vu but with less sight and more just feeling. Sam stared at the door for minutes, prolonging what he knew was bound to happen, listening to the demon sharpen its knives and prepare more tools. It hardly even acknowledged Sam.

So when he turned back to the demon, who turned to face him, a hungry look on his face and knives held in his hands, Sam knew he'd have to hold this thing off for as long as possible. Keep it busy, until Dean could come through for him and destroy the amulet. Then Sam could kill the thing, get to Dean, because God only knows what shape Dean will be in when that happens, and get him to a hospital. Then everything would be okay. Because everything was always okay. They'd get through this.

The demon came forward and Sam realized that he'd better start concentrating on the task at hand instead of letting his mind wander. Though he knew part of it was from being so damn cold. He had to focus. "Look, buddy," Sam started, eyeing the knives in the demon's hands. "I really don't taste good..." But the demon just licked its lips and Sam sighed. "You really like working for Lyle and Keith?" Sam asked. "The two dumbest guys on the planet?"

"Quiet now," the demon said calmly and Sam had half a second to anticipate its move as it lunged at him, knives forward. He jumped to the side, barely missing being impaled. One of the knives slid across his side, though not deep. Enough to make him bleed. He put a hand to his side and glared at the thing. Come on, Dean. But how would he even know if when the spell was broken? How would he know when this thing was made mortal? When this thing could die?

It rushed him again and this time Sam grabbed hold of one of its hands, trying to get the other, but the demon brought the knife up and sliced the side of Sam's face. He backed off. Dammit, this thing was too quick for him. He'd just have to be quicker.

Sam spun around, bringing his leg out, and kicked one of the knives away from the demon, who looked mildly surprised at the motion. It'd probably never had someone who had fought back like this before. The thought made Sam angrier than he should have let it. His mind drifted to Alex and all the pictures of the other people who had gone missing. Damn this thing.

He must have made the thing mad, because as he took a few steps back, the demon let out an ungodly roar and charged at him. The noise it had made surprised Sam and he didn't have time to regather himself as the demon knocked into him, its knife threatening to dig into Sam's heart, but he caught the wrist as he tumbled backwards, the demon on top of him. Sam landed hard on his back, the wind knocked out of him and only years of sparring with Dean saved him from letting the knife slam down into his chest. It poked and pricked at his skin, grazing it, but Sam used all his strength to keep it from killing him outright.

With his other hand, he reached up and hit the demon in the face. He drew blood, but the demon didn't seem to notice. Sam's arms were getting weak and the knife kept grazing deeper and deeper into his skin. Then it hit him. No physical punch had ever hurt this bad. It started with his toes and worked its way up his body, building in intensity and making Sam want to cry out and scream and kill all at the same time. A feeling of dread washed through Sam and in a suddenly adrenaline surge, he reached out and punched the demon again. This time, he got the reaction he'd been waiting for.

The demon stopped its attack and Sam lay breathing for a second, willing the dread to go away. Forcing his mind to ignore the reasons why he'd suddenly felt to helpless, so lost, so alone. He stared at the demon, watched as it reached up and put a hand to its bleeding cheek. Sam took the opportunity to buck the demon off of him. He rolled until he reached the counter where the knives were kept. He grabbed the first thing that his wandering hand found and whirled, sensing the demon coming at him again.

The meat cleaver found its way into the side of the demon's head without Sam even having to aim.

Sam stared at it for a second, his eyes wandering from the bleeding half decapitated head to the knife that the demon held, inches away from Sam's own face, frozen in death. Sam took a few shaky breaths before pushing the thing, testing it.

It fell over dead. Dead. Sam had killed the demon. It could be killed. That meant...

"Dean," Sam gasped and got to his feet. He ran for the freezer door, ignoring the protests of his body, ignoring the tears that were already building in his eyes. Ignoring the feeling that had clenched his heart. The same feeling he had when Dean had gone missing. The feeling that his brother was gone. Sam wouldn't allow it.

Sam ran through the slaughterhouse towards the open door. Although his running was only a small step up from a crawl. He couldn't really tell, his mind so intent on finding Dean, getting help, making sure they both lived, making sure they got the hell away from this damn town, and never letting his brother out of his sight again.

When Sam reached the door, he was surprised to find a squad car and an ambulance already there. When had that happened? It didn't feel like they'd been in there that long. Sam looked around, his stomach dropping to his feet as he saw the body bags lined up. There were four. Four? Dean.

"No," Sam cried out and took a few steps forward before his legs gave out.

"Hey," a voice called from somewhere in the distance. "Hey, we have another one over here!"

And suddenly he was surrounded by blue and lights and questions. What was his name? What happened? Was he all right? Was there anyone else? Just hang on buddy, we'll get you to a hospital, you're gonna be okay. In reality, there was only one question that needed to be answered. "Where's my brother?" But his voice was too soft, too muffled to be heard over the commotion and no one answered. He was swarmed by uniforms and blankets and oxygen masks. His vision was going in and out and someone was holding him up. They were helping him towards an awaiting ambulance but Sam just wanted to sleep and cry and never wake up. How could Dean be dead? After all this? He wasn't supposed to die. Dammit, Dean wasn't supposed to die.

But as they passed the other ambulance, Sam caught sight of someone being loading in. His eyes widened and his heart sped up but even with the extra adrenaline, it wasn't enough to make his body work. But he listened. He listened to what they were saying because that prone figure laying there, with three different paramedics trying to stop the bleeding, bringing out the defibrilator, shocking him back to life, was his brother. It was Dean. And he had to listen, to hear what they were saying, to hear what had happened.

"Clear." Another shock. Sam reached his own ambulance. "No pulse. Clear." Another shock. Someone helped him inside. He laid down. "We've got nothing. Up it. Clear." Another shock. A prick in his arm. Someone leaning over him, asking him his name. But he could only listen.

"We've got a pulse."

Sam sighed and closed his eyes, leaving the rest for the morning when he woke up and had his brother back. 


	11. Epilogue

Epilogue

"You don't have to do this."

Sam watched his brother sigh and lean his head against the window. He looked tired. Beyond tired. He looked like a guy who'd gotten out of the hospital about a week too soon. One side of his face still black and purple and blue, while the other still far too pale. One arm was in a sling while the other rested on the door handle. Dean looked like shit, but Sam thought he looked amazing for a guy who had been skewered, shot, flung against the wall, and had his heart restarted three times in the course of two days. Dean spent a week in the hospital and would have spent one more, but he'd been adamant about doing this. Dean needed to do this. There were scars here beyond what Sam could see.

Scars for both of them. Sam hadn't told Dean about the anguish he'd felt when he'd seen that fourth body bag. He hadn't told him about how he couldn't feel guilty for being relieved that the fourth body had been Piotr Locklyn's decaying remains, uneaten by the son of a bitch demon. About how he'd wanted to kiss the bartender who'd called the cops after Sam had come in and kiss all the cops who had spent hours at the Marx farm and found meat hooks from the slaughterhouse and had been smart enough to put two and two together. About how he'd dreamt about Dean dying over and over again, about how even when Sam had been cleared to leave, he'd never left the hospital, but had stayed by Dean's comatose side until they could both go.

"Yeah I do," Dean whispered, his voice unusually quiet. "I promised him."

"Dean..."

"Sam."

And that was that. Sam watched his brother struggle with the door handle for a moment, his body still weak, but finally it swung open. Dean sat for a moment, eyes going to the small crowd that had gathered. All wearing black. Tissues crumpled in their hands. Even the flowers looked dark. Then he swung his legs out and waited.

Sam opened his own door, grabbing the cane from the backseat before he rounded the car and came to stand next to his brother. Dean reached out and took the cane while Sam grabbed him beneath his good shoulder and helped him to stand up. Dean didn't even complain. It was a testament to how terrified he was to be here. Sam even felt his brother lean into him a little and he wasn't sure if it was because his body was still so battered or because Dean needed the comfort. Sam let him alone for a minute, just standing there, supporting him for as long as he needed. Dean's eyes wandered over the faces, some of which were turned his way, appraising him, sizing him up, scowling even.

But Sam wouldn't ask again whether he wanted to do this. Dean's watery gaze was also a determined one. He stared back at each of the faces who scowled, each of the faces who told him he shouldn't be here. He stood strong, even when he was leaning against Sam, unable to stand on his own.

Finally managing to stand on his own, Dean placed the cane down and tested his leg. It was still tender. Sam noticed his wince.

"We can get the wheelchair," he offered quietly.

"No," Dean shook his head. Sam nodded, understanding. He closed the car door and stood behind Dean's shoulder as they made their way to the small gathering. The uphill climb on the muddy grass was almost too much for Dean. They had to stop several times so Dean could get his bearings and take a breather, but they finally made it. Someone relinquished their chair and Sam gave him a nod of thanks as he helped lower Dean into it. Once Dean was situated, he looked up and found people staring. They quickly looked away when Sam met their eyes. He challenged every one of them, every fucking one who dare look at his brother, to say that Dean didn't belong.

Sam looked at the coffin sitting in the center of the group. He saw the blown up picture of Alex, smiling, happy, a teenager. There weren't heavy bags under his eyes, no pale skin, no odd angle to his neck. He looked bright. Light. Alive. Dean shifted next to him and Sam turned towards him, making sure he was all right. But Dean was shifting more out of nervousness than pain.

The funeral went quickly. A priest spoke, talking about Heaven and sin and how God forgives all his children in death and how Alex was at peace. Alex's uncle got up to speak, as did a couple of his classmates. A trumpet player from the high school marching band played Amazing Grace. They lowered the coffin. Dean sat still, eyes cast at the ground the entire time. No smirk at the mention of God and heaven. No impatient tap of the foot. Just a statue.

Once the coffin was lowered, Alex's mother stood up and went to the podium. Dean's eyes finally rose.

"My son would have been so honored you all came today," she started. "He uh...he was always good at making friends. And I know we're all going to miss him, but not as much as he'll miss us. Alex was a kid who lived off his friends. He was always doing things for others, making sure everyone else was happy before he could be. Things won't be the same without him. But...he wouldn't want us to live any differently. He'd want us to be happy, to just go on without him. Whenever I was having a bad day, he used to say to me, it's okay, Mom, God only grants us so many tears." She fought back a sob, wiping away her streaking mascara. Then she looked up, almost directly at Dean. "My son was taken from us, but he's not gone. He'll never be truly gone. They couldn't take all of him."

The rest of the funeral went quickly. When it was over, people rose and walked to their cars. Alex's mother stayed to talk with the priest and her brother and Alex's closest friends. Sam stood and looked down at Dean, who was watching them, holding his breath.

"You ready?" Sam asked softly, watching as Dean startled a bit, his eyes shooting to Sam's face. For a moment he looked panicked, terrified, but then he calmed and the mask was back. He nodded and Sam helped him to stand up, grunting along with him as wound were jarred. "Can you make it over there on your own?"

Dean's eyes stayed on Alex's mother for a moment. Sam thought he wouldn't answer. He saw a million different emotions on his brother, saw wounds that ran too deep, that would never fully heal. He didn't think Dean would ever really get over this and he wondered if this was what his brother thought of him after Jessica had died. That look in Dean's eyes, Sam knew it well. But he'd never thought it would hurt so bad to see it on Dean. Did his brother hurt this bad when he turned and saw it in Sam's eyes?

But when Dean's eyes turned back to look at him, there was something else there. A flicker of something so familiar Sam felt relief and love rush through him. There you are.

"Think she'll let me have his stereo?" Inappropriate but so utterly Dean that Sam couldn't help but smile. Dean smiled back, just about the only thing he could give Sam to tell him that he was okay, that he'd be okay. Sam took what he could get. "Give me five minutes, dude."

"I'll be here, Dean," Sam said as his brother limped towards Alex's mother. He watched Dean approach, head down, but shoulders set. It was one of the hardest things Dean would ever have to do. But Sam would stand here and wait for him. Because Dean would have done the same thing. No matter what happened, Sam knew his brother would always be standing behind him, ready to come if he called, ready to help if he fell. He would return the favor.

The End 


End file.
